


Soft Focus

by Raziel



Category: 19th Century CE RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, Lord M - Freeform, M/M, Melbourne, Raziel - Freeform, Vicbourne, Victoria - Freeform, Whitehall Series - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:30:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raziel/pseuds/Raziel
Summary: We all know our beautiful Queen, the dashing Lord M and even Albert. For those who have need of an image to go with imperfect description, we will borrow that of Ben Robson and Jake Weary of the US Animal Kingdom series for the Irish Cameron brothers. Definitely not what would be the most ludicrous crossover in history, I borrow only their looks and a bit of the Cody attitude:) Without permission and definitely not intending any copyright infringement, with only the deepest admiration.





	1. Chapter 1

Victoria hesitated once more over her choice of jewels and gown. She wanted neither too grand and intimidating, nor too casual so as to imply a lack of respect for her very important guests. She finally accepted a dark red velvet gown, off the shoulders, with lush leaf design embroidered in the skirt. Skerrett hesitated over the jewels, waiting for her final assent. The garnets were far too simple, she thought, and no other colored stones would go well with the rich burgundy hue of her gown. Diamonds, then, but not the largest or brightest. The diamonds she choose – worth a King’s ransom, or a Queen’s – were set in intricate gold filigree which served to somewhat mute their splendor. Tiara or no? She settled on the lightest of those displayed before her and guided Skerrett in arranging her hair so it seemed to fall naturally over the diadem. She glanced at the rings she wore, Albert’s wedding ring and an antique crested band that William’s mother Elizabeth had worn.

Of all the events Victoria had presided over in the years since she came to the throne, she considered this the most intimidating. Strict protocol and a well-oiled Palace machine handled the details of State visits, and after all, nearly every fellow monarch was some sort of cousin. Opening Parliament was likewise a ritualized procedure that demanded only she follow the proscribed steps and read a speech written by William, both during and after his tenure as Prime Minister. Dinners with her contentious near relations were always lively, to be sure, but since she and Albert had married and put on a united front, Mama, Uncle Leopold and even the English uncles made at least an effort to be civil.

This night she was entertaining her most significant guests yet. She had agreed – offered – to host William’s brother and sister, not at a State dinner or ball, but at an intimate affair ostensibly to mark both their recent marriages, in fact to allow them to become acquainted with her not as sovereign but as the mother of William’s child, the woman he loved. Victoria accepted with something like bemusement how close he and his siblings were. She had never grown up in anything akin to a traditional family. Dear Feodora had been an important part of her childhood, but was so much older she was more like a second mother, more demonstrative and far more enjoyable than their actual mother, but still no playmate.

Victoria put a brave face on it, entertaining his family, but she had no real idea what she should say or do, who to be if she couldn’t wear the mask she showed to courtiers. Still, when she considered the courage Albert had shown in coming to a foreign country to woo its unwilling Queen, the courage William showed every day in accepting his role outside the bounds of precedence and protocol, perpetually in the shadows behind Queen, Consort, and his own son - she squared her shoulders and summoned all her own courage, determined she would find a way to make them like her, for Lord M’s sake.

William held Liam in his arms, standing at the head of the grand stairway. At nearly two years of age – his birthday was a few weeks away – their son was a beautiful child with his father’s arresting green eyes and softly curling hair. He had a preternatural poise and sweetness, and – as befit a child surrounded entirely by doting adults – was much advanced in speech and manners. Prince William – Liam to his family - would erupt in peals of laughter when Prince Albert, the man he called Father, swept him up and swung him around, or walked about with the boy on his shoulders; he lit up when his mother appeared in her finery. But he belonged heart and soul to his beloved Papa. The Palace was accustomed to seeing Lord Melbourne walk the halls, work at his desk, meet with one or another of his Parliamentary colleagues, with the child in his arms. Liam’s governess, Victoria’s dear Baroness Lehzen, had abandoned efforts to persuade Melbourne it was not seemly for a child to intrude on adult business. The Queen and Prince Consort simply deferred to Melbourne in all things regarding the child. 

Seeing the Queen approach, Melbourne stood the boy on his feet. “Greet your mother,” He prompted, quite unnecessarily. The little boy was already bowing and beaming up at his mother. He tugged at the sleeve of the jacket he wore and pointed to Melbourne’s, made of the same dark blue velvet. “Look, Mama. My coat is like Papa’s.”

“I see that! You both look very handsome!” Victoria laughed and lifted her face for Melbourne to kiss. Since Liam’s birth they were both less cautious. The country had a glamorous young Queen, a Consort who wasn't too expensive, a prince to secure the succession and a popular former Prime Minister who kept the precarious peace between Whig and Tory in Parliament. No one really cared beyond that.

“Shall we go into the drawing room?”

Melbourne presented his sister Emily and her husband, Lord Palmerston. Victoria knew him, of course, as her Foreign Secretary, but in this context everything was different enough they needed to become reacquainted on a more intimate footing. His brother Frederick, whom Victoria had made Baron Beauvale several years prior and who served with great distinction as Ambassador to Vienna, bowed over her hand. Frederick introduced his new wife Alexandrina. She was only a few years older than Victoria, who liked her immediately. Frederick was almost as handsome as William, she thought, and had his brother’s polish and address. 

When Melbourne presented the child, Liam, well trained by his governess, extended his hand for the ritual genuflection and solemnly acknowledged each greeting with his babyish lisp. 

“Liam, you may call this lady Emily. She is my sister. And this is my brother Fred.” Emily hesitated for only a moment, then smiled widely. “Your Highness, I hope we will become great friends,” She said. “You are very much like my brother.” Liam looked at her solemnly before producing a shy smile. 

“You may call him Liam. We don’t use the more formal forms of address, in the family.” His words were met with silence as his siblings exchanged uncertain glances, and Lord Palmerston muttered something that sounded like “I don’t want to hear this.” That seemed to trigger laughter from the three siblings, and the moment of awkwardness passed. Soon the little prince was chattering about his dog, questioning his guests on any pets they might have, his babyish familiarity putting them at their ease. When the Baroness returned to lead him back to the nursery, the adults had been quite charmed.

Any potential awkwardness at dinner was instantly alleviated by the obvious pleasure the siblings took in each other’s company. Their high spirits were contagious and Victoria found that all she had to do was listen to each in turn, since these Lambs all were sparking conversationalists. Albert and his brother were the only others at table, and their own fraternal camaraderie fit right in to make dinner quite lively. Far more amusing, Victoria thought, than when her mother and uncle glowered from opposite sides of the board.

After dinner, when they had adjourned to the drawing room, Albert and his brother bowed their excuses and departed for an engagement in the city. Shortly after the Baroness entered and murmured something apologetically to Victoria. She looked at Melbourne. “Liam,” She said. “You can miss one night. Lehzen can put him to bed.”

Melbourne sighed with mock reluctance. “I am summoned by our Prince,” He drawled. “Alas, he refuses to sleep unless I sit with him. Fred, I am sure you will ruin my reputation with Victoria while I’m gone.” Victoria bit her lip to keep from smiling; she knew with certainty his choice to use her name had been deliberate, as he rarely referred to her as anything but Her Majesty when talking to others. He wanted to put her, and them, at ease in his absence.

Emily watched her brother leave. “William seems quite smitten with the child, Your Majesty. It would be a great shame if their bond were ever to be broken.”

Victoria lifted her brows. “That would never happen. The Crown Prince rules the Palace as well as the nursery, and he would never allow a day to go by without Lord Melbourne in attendance.”

The moment passed. Frederick shared a story from their boyhood, how William had been their mother’s favorite and frequently used both eloquence and guile to avoid the rough-and-tumble fights of the neighborhood boys and, later, his schoolmates. “One would have thought he was destined to become the diplomat, and I the politician. I always relished an argument.”

When Melbourne returned he allowed his hand to trail lightly across Victoria’s shoulders as he passed behind her; she looked up and smiled at him. To his sister, that smile and the way the Queen’s expression softened, almost alleviated any concern she felt for her brother. They all had unorthodox relationships – their mother certainly, Emily herself long married to Cowper and Palmerston’s mistress until her husband died and she could finally wed, William refusing to divorce that little beast Caroline and now lover to a married woman more than thirty years younger. Who was the Queen of England, there was that. 

Victoria sat back and watched them all, content to be a spectator, genuinely interested in a family that so clearly adored each other. She had never experienced anything like it. As a child she had eagerly attempted to make playmates of the estate workers’ children, watching their large families as they processed to church on Sundays, attended the occasional fun fairs together. As an adult, she and Albert and of course William had created a family of their own, with their households and Albert’s favored companions, but Liam was as bereft of playmates and surrounded by adults as she had been, albeit he had all of them, laughing, happy, indulgent adults.

When they’d said their goodbyes Emily impulsively hugged the Queen, laughing at her own audacity, and Victoria in turn embraced the young Alexandrina, all promising they would continue the acquaintance.

When William followed Victoria into her dressing room he was still ebullient, exhilarated, his eyes sparkling. “I knew they would love you!” He exclaimed. “What did you think?”

Victoria pursed her lips, considering, as Skerrett deftly moved her this way and that, undressing her. “How could I not like them? You are all so much alike, and you enjoy each other so much!” 

Melbourne leaned against her dressing table, propping a hip against the corner. “If Fred ever gives up his post, or if the new government recalls him, perhaps he could finally move to London and Em and I could see more of him. His little wife seems a sweet girl.” He chuckled. “Seems we both robbed the schoolroom in our wives.” Melbourne raised an eyebrow. “What, Mrs. Melbourne? You are my wife, in every way that matters.” He ducked under her maid’s upraised arm and kissed her forehead. “I will be back soon.”

When Melbourne returned Victoria was in bed, her back against a great pile of pillows, writing in her diary. He kicked off his slippers and threw himself onto the bed beside her, leaning his head against her arm. She protectively shielded her diary with a hand, looked at him reprovingly. He laughed and moved back, determined to distract her, running the tip of an index finger over her collarbone, sliding the neck of her gown off her shoulder.

“I believe, Mrs. Melbourne, that we can safely be together tonight. Am I correct in my calculations?”

Victoria looked at him for a long moment, so long that he wondered whether she would refuse him. She never had, seemed to crave physical intimacy as much as he did, but there was always a first time.

“You are correct. I finished my course just two days ago. William….?”

“Hmmm….?” He kissed her shoulder, ran his lips down her neckline to the swell of her breasts.

“What if we stopped being safe? What if we just…see what happened?”

“Victoria! Are you saying you want another child?” He sat up, looking absurdly boyish, Victoria thought with great tenderness.

“I am definitely not saying I look forward to being pregnant again. Or enduring another childbirth. But….can we at least talk about it? About giving Liam a brother or sister?”

“Why? I mean – what changed your mind?” He frowned. “Not to please me, I hope. I have everything I ever dreamed of and more. I would never put you in an untenable position, would not want you to take such a momentous step to please me…although I would love you even more for thinking to do so…if it were possible to love you more.”

“I don’t know that I have changed my mind exactly.” She sighed. “Or perhaps I have. Seeing you with your brother and sister, how much you love each other, how much you simply like each other. Liam is surrounded by people who adore him, but he won’t have that kind of companionship, friends for life, as I didn’t. What do you think?”

Melbourne wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “What do I think? First and foremost I remember Liam’s birth, fearing we might lose you, seeing the anguish you went through and I don’t ever want to face that again. Otherwise…I do think it would be wonderful for Liam to have a brother or sister. A playmate, a defender, a lifelong friend.”

“And you…what about you? How would you feel about it? You’ve given me so much, William, and you endure this…unorthodox marriage, if that’s what it is. My marriage in law to Albert, and my marriage in spirit to you. Would having another child please you, Lord M?”

“I love being a father, ma’am,” Melbourne said, meeting her use of their past form of address, those titles imbued with more exquisite tenderness than any endearment. “It doesn’t matter to me whether we have one or a baker’s dozen. Well, make that one or two. I fear I couldn’t handle more of a pack than that. But the decision is yours.”

“I don’t think I want to deliberately try. That sounds so much like work and I fear it would quite eliminate the – pleasure of it all. What if we just don’t think of pregnancy at all? Nothing may happen. And if it does, then perhaps it’s meant to be.”

“Perhaps the next one would be a girl,” Victoria said musingly. 

Melbourne’s eyes grew suddenly misty. “A little girl!” He whispered dreamily, imagining a daughter, a little Victoria, seeing her in soft focus in his mind’s eye. “A princess. Whom we would not think to marry to any prince with a head the size of a pumpkin!”


	2. Chapter 2

“So...what are your thoughts, ma’am?” Melbourne lounged in a chair near the Queen’s dressing table. 

“Are you asking the Queen?” Victoria’s eyes were on him, assessing.

“No. I am asking you.”

She paused a long time, collecting her thoughts. Of course she had been privy to ongoing discussion of the situation on the Continent, the need to reestablish a formal diplomatic presence in Paris, negotiate new treaties with the major powers in Europe so they spoke as one to the French regime, else every revolutionary faction would solicit its own allies. Although William’s name had never been mentioned by Peel, nor had anyone else’s, only a vague reference to the impossibility of committing any of her Ministers to what must be an oblique effort. Deniability and all that, Peel had said dismissively. William himself had discussed with her the complicated shifting alliances across the channel, making it far more understandable with the addition of the colorful personalities and notable events from his time as Home Secretary and political insider.

Who better than William to spearhead a mission which, above all, must depend for its success on reasonableness among men of strongly held nationalist beliefs, and the ability to remain sanguine? His languid charm, breadth of world view and experience, even the fact that he was universally liked, all argued that he was precisely the man they needed to represent Crown and country. But, she corrected herself, those was the Queen’s thoughts. She looked down at her lap, then up somewhat shyly. It was never quite easy to be vulnerable, even with him. 

Victoria’s dresser tsk’d at the movement, paused in placing the many tiny diamond pins in her complicated upswept hair style.

“Of course I would miss you.” Victoria sighed. “I begin to miss you when you leave the room. And Liam...” Her voice trailed off, thinking of their small son’s many-times-daily contact with his father, the nightly bedtime ritual.

“Yes. Liam.” Melbourne sighed.

The prospect of being separated from him for any length of time, far less months, left her feeling unmoored, as though she was in danger of floating away. Victoria found herself trembling and quickly clasped her hands together to conceal it from him. She idolized her former Prime Minister, considered him the wisest, the best of men in public life, so much more than just her lover. It had to have been difficult to step down from his ten years as the most powerful man leading the greatest nation on earth. Of course he sat in Parliament but as only a cross-bench MP. He advised his colleagues, wrote bills, but in a quiet low-key, uncelebrated fashion. To be asked to lead a diplomatic mission, to represent Crown and Government in negotiations with other nations, was indeed a great honor but no more than his due. And yet, she thought, he seemed quite satisfied with the shape of his life in semi-retirement. 

Melbourne rose and bowed over her, so close she could feel his warmth, the tingling current that ran between them. He kissed her hand. So handsome in his formal evening attire that her heart fluttered as it had seeing him for the first time. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking later, Mrs. Melbourne,” He murmured teasingly in her ear. Victoria’s long-time maid, Miss Skerrett, ducked her head, trying to conceal a smile. She was discretion personified but so longed to tell someone about the great love story she’d witnessed firsthand from its beginning, had only whispered bits of it to her sister, to her own lover. It was the stuff of sonnets and plays and she, Nancy Skerrett, the only living soul who witnessed it all.

“It would do the country great honor, to have you representing us. We can’t think of anyone better suited than you,” Victoria said carefully. “And if you successfully establish new treaties which bring lasting peace to the continent, history would recognize you as the author.”

“To that, I would respond that I’ve already had the greatest honor of my career in serving and advising my Queen. Perhaps that’s enough of a part in history.”

Her maid stepped back to indicate her toilette complete. Victoria stood.

“Very nice, ma’am.” She wore a midnight blue watered silk court dress, shoulders bare, full skirt spreading to display tiny points of reflected light, minute diamond chips fastened to the fabric. Around her neck, suspended from her ears, sapphires surrounded by magnificent diamonds, matching the delicate tiara.

“’Nice’, Lord M? You slight Miss Skerrett’s considerable effort.” Melbourne laughed at seeing the maid blush and turn away.

“Your Majesty,” He bowed. “I meant to say, magnificent.” He held out his arm. “I can’t escort you in but may I have the honor of escorting you to the ballroom?” Victoria took his arm.

Queen Victoria and His Serene Highness Prince Albert opened the ball. After that first dance, Victoria took champagne and, with Melbourne in his customary place at her left and her husband on her right, endured the obligatory presentations. She extended her hand to be kissed innumerable times, found something apropos to say to each person she met, inclined her head with regal dignity to acknowledge the introduction. She brightened when finally Lady Palmerston, Melbourne’s sister, reached her at the side of a venerable matron.

“Your Majesty, Your Serene Highness, may I present Baroness Holland?” Emily said. Victoria smiled and extended her hand.

“Baroness, we are most pleased you could attend us tonight. Welcome to our Court.” Victoria conversed cordially for several minutes, notably longer than she had allotted earlier, less significant persons and, when she ended their conversation, rose in a gesture of quite extraordinary royal approbation. The venerable Elizabeth Fox, Lady Holland, thus capped her illustrious social career by becoming the first notable divorcée to be received at court.

When she sat back down, Victoria took another glass of champagne and smiled, quite pleased with herself. Albert bent over and murmured “I suspect you’ve just done something quite naughty, and very gracefully too. Good job!” He was rewarded by her somewhat smug grin.

Victoria quite agreed with his assessment. Divorcées had traditionally not been received at court and no matter their success in society, this ban would always impose an insurmountable stigma. By receiving one of Melbourne’s oldest feminine connections, Victoria had neatly managed to further slight another woman, similarly positioned, that she would never acknowledge.

“Well done, darling,” Melbourne said quietly. “And now I must mark the occasion by asking Lady Holland to waltz. With your approval, ma’am?” Victoria looked up at him, her eyes mischievous.

“We have not yet danced tonight, Lord M.”

“True, but I save the best for last as you know.” Victoria admiringly watched him saunter off, once more amazed that he had rested his affections on the ignorant young girl she had been.

Victoria danced with her cousin George, and with Viscount Canning, and with her equerry, Lord Paget. Melbourne met her as Paget was escorting her off the floor.

“Your Majesty?” Victoria extended her hand and he placed his hand on her back most respectfully. Victoria loved dancing with him – as in everything else with her Lord M, dancing was so effortless in his arms they moved like one.

“Lady Holland is quite pleased you gave her her due,” He said, laughter in his voice. “May I ask what prompted that? You never mentioned it.”

“There are many people here tonight, and a number of these were presented for the first time. It didn’t occur to me you would be interested in the particulars…” Victoria looked up at him innocently. 

“Very neatly done, and getting Emily to present her…I applaud you, ma’am.” He paused. “In all seriousness, she is an old friend who hosts the most important political dinners in London. Whatever prompted your generosity, well done.” 

“Perhaps it was a matter of bringing Muhammad to the mountain. Of course you will receive the credit.” Melbourne burst out laughing so heartily Victoria couldn’t help but join in, and they ended their dance quite merrily.

“Victoria, Victoria, I never thought to have such a worthy protégée.” He stayed at her side, and they watched the ballroom companionably, Melbourne pointing out various individuals, making Victoria laugh with his amusing commentary.

Melbourne reflected that he was quite happy with every aspect of his life, and as remarkable as it was to recognize one’s own happiness as it was being experienced, it might also be the deciding factor in whether to decline the assignment Peel offered. Melbourne had never been an ambitious man; exercise of power and influence for their own sake had no appeal. He was well-respected by his peers and even his ideological foes had nothing bad to say about him personally. He was as active politically as he wanted to be and had the freedom from responsibility to set his own priorities. He had the time to dine at Brooks, at Holland House, at the salons of the premier political hostesses and even the infrequency with which he did so – preferring most evenings to dine at the palace and be present for his small son’s bedtime – only added cachet for those hostesses fortunate enough to have him grace their table. Society acknowledged his unique role at Court and in the life of their sovereign. Some insisted that his was a father’s influence – had his own son lived, Augustus would have been a decade older than the young Queen – and others certain it was something far different. Paternity of the young Crown Prince had always been the subject of quiet speculation, but no scandal attached as long as Prince Albert acknowledged the boy as legitimate. The boy was born to a Queen Regnant and would be King no matter if his father were German or a good Englishman. No, Melbourne thought, there were far more good reasons to decline the special envoy’s role than there were to accept. 

The only considerations tipping the scale toward acceptance were the fact that his Government needed him, or so they quite flatteringly said, and his own unfamiliar desire to leave some accomplishment more specific and tangible than the ten essentially stable years he’d given the country. He would like to leave his mark, something Liam could point to with pride in later years.

William resolved to put the decision off another day, and looked to his Queen.

“Is Your Majesty thinking of retiring soon?” He asked with a smile.

“The Queen does wish to retire soon, and begs Lord Melbourne to join her.”

Albert accompanied them to the Queen’s apartments. Melbourne poured them each a brandy and they sat in the drawing room while Victoria put herself in the hands of her maid once more.

“So you’re considering making a Grand Tour of sorts? Leading a diplomatic delegation to the Continent?” 

“At this point it’s only a consideration. I see no compelling reason why it requires my leadership. We have many able diplomats – my brother Fred would be an excellent man for the job.”

“Don’t you want to do it? I wish I might be given an opportunity like that.”

“If it were possible, I’m sure you would perform ably. Unfortunately….” Melbourne shrugged.

“If you do accept, is there any possibility I could accompany your party, incognito if necessary? As an aide de camp, a secretary even?”

Melbourne pretended to consider the suggestion, knowing full well the answer.

“As you’re related by blood or marriage to every crowned head of Europe, I’m not sure any disguise or pseudonym would work, Your Highness.”

Albert grimaced. “So I must stay here with the Queen and we perform like marionettes at a….Punch and Judy show.” Melbourne laughed at the image and Albert grudgingly joined.

“So…you would be missing the London Season. How fortunate for you,” Albert observed dryly.

“Ah, the presentation of debutantes. Yes. I would miss that. How helpful of you to remind me there is at least one benefit to leaving just then.”

“This will be our fourth such season. I recall with great discomfort how tedious the last three have been.”

“Indeed. Quite a barbaric custom, almost like a Barbary slave auction. Mamas bringing forward young virgins to be presented and take their place on the Marriage Mart.”

“I’m surprised you don’t appreciate the spectacle,” Albert teased. “I thought gentlemen looked forward to it. Especially a socially prominent widower who would be considered quite a catch.”

“Not I. I’ve always found very young damsels quite insipid,” Melbourne drawled. “With one exception of course. And I’m hardly available to be caught.”

“Ah yes. There are those who assume you are the Queen’s companion, and others who think you must be mine.” Albert laughed playfully. “So…if one wishes to get a young woman introduced at Court, presented as you say, how does one go about it?”

Melbourne raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why do you ask, Albert? Do you have an interest fixed with a particular young woman?”

Victoria came out in her dressing gown, hair brushed and loose around her shoulders. “Albert! What’s this, you are interested in a young lady?”

“No…but she has a brother…” He poured more brandy. “And the brother – brothers, actually, there are two – is desirous of coming to court and having his sister presented. Almack’s vouchers and all that…” He waved a long white hand dismissively. “I would like to assist.”

“Albert…this is quite difficult, a diplomatic feat in itself. Someone who is already received must present the girl. She must be from a good family, respectable. I suppose they want to marry her well?”

“Details, details. They are from Ireland. Father was a Baron, dead I think. Mama is not quite the thing. Ran a dance hall or gaming house or some such, which is why she wants to marry them respectably here rather than at home. You can meet them – the brothers – in my drawing room tomorrow night and find out anything else for yourself. The younger brother I would like to add to my household, give him an income and some position. The elder is quite interested in the fairer sex, I think you’ll find him charming. All the females do.”

Victoria laughed and kissed her husband fondly. “Very well, I will meet them. Informally of course. We will say good night now, dear husband.”

Time spent in the Queen’s bedchamber at day’s end was their refuge from the world and the Court. Melbourne looked forward to having her all to himself. Victoria liked nothing better to curl up in his arms and listen to him tell stories of his boyhood, the days of the Regency, the gossip he heard in town, the colorful personalities he met at the gatherings he frequented. Victoria often chafed at her necessary isolation from the society of the glittering city outside her Palace windows. As Melbourne was an interested and astute observer of the characters he encountered he was able to paint vivid lifelike word pictures of that other part of his life.

“Now talk to me, Mrs. Melbourne,” He murmured, holding her closely after their lovemaking, using the derogatory name with which they’d sought to slander her. “What are your feelings about my taking a trip that might keep me away for several months?”

“Being fêted at diplomatic receptions in Paris, Vienna, Petersburg? Having beautiful Parisiennes and Russian grand duchesses throw themselves at you?” She made a moue of displeasure. 

He laughed. “I have a beautiful young woman I would not so easily forget.”

“If you are even considering it – the mission, silly, not the women – you must think that the idea has merit…? If that is the case you must do as you wish. I know this life –“ She gestured the Palace, the Court. “Is not always easy. It’s not easy for me and I was bred to it, I always knew this would be my life.” Victoria shifted away from his embrace, lay against the pillows, still quite naked.

“Would you be back by the summer?” She asked.

“Certainly. They want this underway soon. Why?” He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her closely. Victoria hesitated.

“No particular reason. I only hope we would not be apart too long. How I wish I could go with you, see something of the world. Stand at your side.”

“Nothing’s decided yet. I may not be formally offered the role. Peel was just ascertaining my interest. Wellington is too old and too crusty to take part. Palmerston took such a hard line with France over the Mediterranean issue and offended Russia on India. They want someone high profile enough to impress, yet no current Minister who could be assumed to speak for the whole. That leaves me, I guess. A former Premier with ties to the Crown yet no particular history of foreign policy to stumble over. Not much of a recommendation and hardly flattering. I’m sort of the least of bad options.” 

Victoria toyed with the thick curly hair she loved to touch. “You are liked by everyone. You see all sides of an issue. And if you have ties to the Crown, that will at least guarantee you audience with the sovereign’s closest advisers rather than some bureaucratic functionary. If you do this thing, I can write letters of introduction.”

Melbourne laughed. “I think that’s what Peel is counting on. So…you think I should go, if asked?” 

“I don’t know, honestly. I would miss you dreadfully but I think this is something you must decide.” She slid down under the heavy duvet and laid her head on his shoulder, one hand resting protectively on her stomach. “I love you so, Lord M.”

“And I you, ma’am.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Queen walked with one attendant only to Albert’s apartments. She had promised to attend his salon and in general did not mind doing so. The Prince Consort had established the custom of bringing literary and scientific notables to Court, for an evening of informal discussion and entertainment. His interest in such things had only grown during his time in England and an invitation was well-regarded not only by the intelligentsia who would otherwise never venture into the palace, but by free-thinking peers who were instrumental in shaping public perception of the Prince.

Victoria rarely stayed long unless Melbourne was with her. She lacked her husband’s insatiable curiosity about science and intellectual pursuits. If Melbourne shared her essential disinterest in such things, he was a charming, gifted conversationalist and, Victoria thought, made others others more interesting in his presence.

Having promised Albert she would attend, Victoria was disappointed to receive a scrawled note from Melbourne advising that he would be in the city late and might not make the ride to Windsor. The winter weather was harsh enough that she half-hoped he would spare himself late travel, even as she regretted a night apart.

A hall page opened the door for her and prepared to announce the Queen’s arrival. She shook her head slightly, preferring to slip in without ceremony. She and Lady Jocelyn stood to one side of the door, surveying the room.

A half dozen gentlemen and several young ladies sat in a group listening to two men, unfamiliar to the Queen, who seemed to be the center of attention. As Victoria watched, she wondered curiously who they might be. Neither had the rather pale, ascetic look she associated with the habitués of Albert’s salons. Both were muscular, tanned and rough in appearance despite their well-tailored coats. They were clearly entertaining, as their fellow guests appeared quite enthralled.

“Shall we?” Victoria walked toward the group with her companion. When her husband saw her he rose swiftly; the others hastened to do likewise. Led by those few more cognizant of etiquette the gentlemen bowed and the ladies curtsied. Victoria noticed, with amusement and some surprise, one young lady had been abruptly dislodged from the male knee upon which she’d been seated.

Albert refrained from making general introductions, so as to avoid any misapprehension of one having been formally “presented” to the Queen, instead regaling her with small snippets of information.

“Billy Cameron and his brother Daniel are just back from India. They’ve been telling us some of the amazing sights they’ve seen.”

Victoria took the seat she was offered, freeing the others to be seated once more, and found herself beside the man Albert called Billy. Always conscious of her own small stature, Victoria felt positively dwarfed by his size. He gestured for the servant passing a tray of drinks. “Wine, madame?” The deep voice had just a touch of brogue and Victoria immediately recognized they must be Albert’s new acquaintances. So different from his usual favorites!

“Hardly amazing,” The man responded to Albert’s statement. “Mostly unbelievably smelly and dirty. Glad I’m back. Now this fellow -“ He pointed to a man seated across from them. “Has something really amazing to tell us about. A...device? Machine? A means of sending messages hundreds of miles in minutes. Have I got that right?”

At least the instincts of a gentleman if not entirely the manner, Victoria noted, appreciating how deftly he turned the attention to someone else.

“Vail, explain your invention to my wife please,” Albert invited.

“Hardly only mine, Highness. Many others have brought us to this point. But what we have done, ma’am, is —“ He proceeded to describe an instrument he called a “register” which received messages in the form of dots and dashes embossed on moving paper, sent by another machine invented by his colleague Mr. Samuel Morse. Victoria was quite content to let him talk uninterrupted, inclining her head attentively, hoping to retain a word here and there in case she would be expected to respond at some point.

“Electromagnet...went two miles...’What hath God wrought’ indeed...” Victoria looked at the man beside her, surprised to hear his _sotto voce _commentary. “In case I have to say something. Helps me sound like I understand what the Hades he’s talking about. It worked at university and in the Army...” His eyes dancing with amusement when they met hers, Victoria couldn't help giggling at his irreverence, echoing her own thoughts.__

__Despite her intention to leave after a brief appearance, Victoria found herself enjoying the evening. Albert’s friend kept her amused with his irreverant, self-deprecating quips and his easy ribbing of the more professorial guests. Lounging at his ease, long legs in riding boots stretched out before him, Victoria was much reminded of a large sleepy lion she’d once seen on exhibition in Trafalgar Square, drowsy, seemingly peaceful as a house cat but unmistakably a wild beast all the same, not entirely tamed. Still, she thought, if he wasn’t quite the usual thing seen at court he was at least good-natured and pleasant enough company. If she extended the hoped-for invitation it might at least be amusing to see him let loose amongst the senior nobility, Victoria decided._ _

Melbourne did ride out to Windsor in the icy night air, to the Queen’s delight and consternation. As soon as she noticed him she exclaimed with pleasure. “You came! Such a long ride in the dark, and the roads icy! Was it very cold?”

“It was indeed. But I find my bed here is warmer than any in the city so here I am.” He bent to murmur in her ear. Victoria smiled and beside her, Lady Jocelyn heard him, blushed and looked away quickly. He was her uncle and quite incorrigible for a man of his years, the young Viscountess thought.

“Will you stay? I’ve found this evening’s salon more pleasant than most. There are some unusual characters in attendance.”

“May I beg off, ma’am? I am exhausted, it’s been a tiring sort of day and I’ve had my fill of unusual characters. I only stopped to tell you I was home.” William did indeed seem somewhat more tired than usual, Victoria thought, looking closely at his handsome face. The fine lines in the soft skin around his eyes she loved to kiss were more pronounced and his large green eyes heavy-lidded. Beside her on the sofa, Mr. Cameron had risen to greet the newcomer. Victoria blushed, suddenly aware of her own poor manners in turning her back on him mid-conversation. She stood likewise.

“Lord Melbourne, this is my husband’s acquaintance, Mr. Cameron. Mr. Cameron, William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne.”

The gentlemen bowed. “Viscount Cameron, is it? Earl of Clancarton’s eldest?”

“You have me pegged, sir. Knew my parents when you were up in Dublin Castle?”

The two spoke briefly about places and things in Ireland they knew in common. When Melbourne bowed and took his leave, Cameron bowed over Victoria’s hand.

“Good night, Your Majesty. I am grateful to you for making this night far more amusing than I feared it might be when my little brother strong-armed me into coming.” As he kissed her hand, his long unbound hair spilled forward so it cascaded over her hand comically.

“I will send you both cards for an upcoming levee. I understand your mother and sister are in London also? You must bring them.” Victoria inclined her head with regal dignity and departed after Melbourne.

Albert followed them out. “William, may I borrow my wife a moment?”

“Well, what do you think? Quite a breath of fresh air, the pair of them, aren’t they? Ireland, the Army…I never knew either produced such originals.” Albert gushed. Victoria laughed.

“If you say so, dear husband. I will oblige you by asking one of my Ladies to do what she can to help the sister.”

“Thank you, wife. I didn’t have a chance to tell you earlier but I had a letter from Stockmar. He seems to feel that with Melbourne leaving us we need a grownup on hand so he’s paying us a visit.” The Prince rolled his eyes at the notion of his old tutor arriving to take charge. “Victoria, I wish you a good night. As I plan to have.” Laughing coquettishly, he went to rejoin his guests.

She found Melbourne lounging on her bed in a dressing gown, staring at nothing, looking pensive.

“Are you tired? Do you prefer to retire? I don’t want to keep you up.” Melbourne laughed, that wonderful hearty laugh she so loved.

“Good God, woman, what do you take me for? I’m merely enjoying a moment’s relaxation where I’m safe from one more importunate fool certain he knows everything about everything and determined to annoy everyone with that certainty.” He held out his arms. “Come. Can we dispense with your maid? I will assist.”

He managed to undo the buttons up the back of her dress with much fumbling and swearing and helped her step out of it. “Whatever you pay that woman, it’s not enough,” He grumbled. “This is no easy business.”

Victoria kept her shift in place as she reached for a fresh night gown. “Ma’am, the fire is quite warm and I can make up any deficiencies.” He slid down the straps of her shift and the garment dropped to her feet.

Melbourne took a step back and studied her carefully, nodding to himself as if confirming a suspicion.

“Is something wrong?” Victoria asked lightly.

“Wrong, ma’am? Not at all. But…I believe we have something to talk about?”

Victoria hesitated as Melbourne threw back the heavy feather quilt and invited her to join him. He reached out to her and she slipped under the covers beside him.

“You are expecting a baby.” He asked carefully. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you not certain?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it before your trip. I didn’t want it to influence your decision to go, if that’s what you want.”

Melbourne sighed. “I might point out that I have a right to know? That it should be my decision to make? Or do I assume too much?” Victoria looked uncertain, then flushed as she understood his meaning.

“The timing is unfortunate. You’ve had to make many accommodations for me, I didn’t want to burden you with one more.”

“Victoria, my darling girl! You continually doubt yourself, and me. I would have you see yourself as the splendid creature you are, queen or no. Do you doubt that if you were a shop girl, you would have suitors lined up around the block while the best a man of my years could hope for would be a toothless widow?” Victoria giggled, as he intended. “Nothing about you could ever be a burden.”

“William, you talk as if you’re not the most handsome, most charming, most appealing man in the world! Every female of your acquaintance flirts with you and you’ve had so many beautiful, accomplished women…while I am so young, and …”

“...and my whole world. Nothing about being allowed to love you is a burden to me. It is more happiness than I ever imagined possible. So no more about accomodations and burdens, please. If there is nothing else certain in the world, you may be sure I adore you.” Melbourne felt his eyes well up, pressed his lips into her hair so she would not see. “As I adore our son and any future child you present me with.”

“When is the baby due?” He whispered in the dark.

“Summer, late summer I think. So you have time to spare if you leave soon. If you wish to go, that is.”

Melbourne sighed, raked his hands through his hair.

“That’s the thing, ma’am. If I decline now I fear they will call the thing off and we’ll be back where we started. No official representative in Paris while the Russians and the French carve up the Middle East, make their deals while we have no seat at the table. I’m not saying I’m indispensable, God knows, but they’re all at each other’s throats, so much infighting at Whitehall that there is no one else all the factions can stomach. I came back tonight to tell you it now seems almost inevitable I must go. Only if you wish me to, will I decline and then I’d best tell Peel quickly.”

“Is – is this treaty, these agreements, are they a necessary thing for the good of the country?” Victoria frowned, aware even as she asked of her own deficiencies. Since Melbourne had resigned as her Prime Minister he tried to scrupulously avoid talk of politics and events which should best be discussed with her Head of Government. He recognized that she would adopt his views and put Peel at a disadvantage if ever their opinions diverged.

“How much of this has Peel explained to you, ma’am?”

“The facts, I suppose,” Victoria said, sounding doubtful. “He doesn’t explain things well, William. And I don’t understand things well.”

Melbourne sighed. “Peel and I will see you together, ma’am. Formally. He can go over the entire situation with you and I will be at hand to ensure he doesn’t get too far into the weeds. Will that help? You understand, policy is for him to make, with his Ministers. My only input will be to be sure the man speaks plainly. Because ultimately, the Crown must endorse this effort, or not, since we’ll be speaking in your name.” He rolled onto his side and stroked the line of her form from neck to the swell of her hips. “But if you – my sweet Victoria, not the Queen – do not wish me to go, please tell me so. Your wishes are to me paramount, the Queen’s only second.” Victoria felt his arms tighten around her and her heart swelled with love for him. He said she was his whole world but Victoria knew that he had seen and experienced so much of life, where she had only ever had him to fill her heart.

Victoria pressed her face against his chest, kissed where her lips fell, tracing the line of dark hair down his abdomen with her kisses. Ducking her head shyly she kissed him just there and was rewarded with a soft huff of pleasure.

Hesitantly at first and then with more assurance she began teasing with her tongue, letting her hands find him as he lay back and watched her with a small small until his breathing became harder, more ragged.

His lovemaking was exquisitely tender, gentle she thought in deference to her condition, the pace slow and anticipation prolonged.

Afterward Victoria lay beside him in blissful contentment. Part of her wanted to cry out, begging him not to leave her ever, but the wiser part – the part which recognized his duty and her own, that needed him to be proud of her, to admire her as well as he loved her – kept silent. Instead she told him the news Albert had shared. “Baron Stockmar will be visiting while you’re gone. Seemingly he knew you were leaving before I was certain, because his plans are made. According to Albert he thinks we cannot function without you.”

“More like, he would prefer you did. I think he would still like to replace me. At least, replace the influence he imagines I have with his own. He’s written me, encouraging my retirement from Court. Assuring me I have earned the rewards with which I will be lavishly compensated. For my service to the Crown.” His tone was dry; he ran a hand through his hair.

“He can only say something so stupid because he knows nothing about us and judges you by himself. Do not let that man annoy you, William. If that’s what he writes burn his letters unopened.”

Victoria sat up, fuming.

“If he comes he will meet the Queen I’ve become and not the little German princess he remembers. And I will not be easy!”

She felt his finger tracing the length of her spine, tug playfully on the ends of her hair.

“I know well how intimidating Your Majesty can be when your ire is raised. I fear Stockmar’s intended target is not you but the Prince. The Princes. Albert is bored and seeks a job. His position is not an easy one. He’s no longer content to merely indulge his opportunities for...recreation. We can’t blame him for wanting his life here to have meaning. Haven’t you seen, he’s growing restive, even ambitious? And our Crown Prince...will soon be of an age to set up a school room, appoint a governor and tutors to begin shaping his mind as a future King. I think Stockmar imagines he can control that. You will have your hands full keeping the Baron in check.”

****

After many weeks of talk, planning, more talking and uncertainty the mission was suddenly about to be underway. As the current Prime Minister pedantically explained with the former Prime Minister’s gentle elucidation, the last point of contention, the British unwillingness to travel east was abruptly resolved when Tsar Nicholas was persuaded set aside his dislike of Louis-Phillip long enough to send Foreign Minister Nesselrode west. The need was urgent as Peel and his Ministers insisted. Revolutionary fervor on the Continent had never completely abated and although the English were not a revolutionary people there was enough social unrest at home to view any embers abroad with trepidation.

Thus deprived of his last hope the trip might be called off, Melbourne began to prepare in earnest. He’d insisted on choosing at least some members of the delegation. His nephew and private secretary would travel with him as aides, his brother Frederick, Ambassador to Vienna would join him in Paris. A military attaché handpicked by the Iron Duke met with his approval. Peel had insisted on the noisy, flamboyant young Tory Benjamin Disraeli joining them, Melbourne suspected for no other reason than to get him out of the country for a time.

For too many evenings, Melbourne sat in meetings far too late to contemplate a return to the Palace. He’d ride out with Peel, and visit the nursery while the Queen met with her Prime Minister, then spent a too-brief time with her in the company of her ladies.

Unwilling to trigger another Bedchamber crisis at the beginning of his second ministry, Peel had allowed simple attrition to change the composition of the Royal household. Now only Lady Emma Portman remained, as chief Lady and Mistress of the Robes, amidst a bevy of new Tory wives and daughters. Melbourne’s own niece Frances Joceyln was one of their number, married to a Conservative MP but the others were still strangers to the Queen, and she missed the former easy camaraderie of being surrounded by dear friends.

Albert had, as foreseen, added the Cameron brothers to his Household, the younger as an improbably uncouth Gentleman of his Bedchamber. The elder was a constant presence without any formal role unless it was provocateur, Victoria observed. He certainly caused a stir, mutterings of disapproval from the most formal adherents to protocol and definite stirrings of whispered interest from the ladies. Victoria herself found him alternately amusing and exasperating, but she reckoned that both brothers might pose a distraction for Baron Stockmar and any intention he had to unduly influence her husband.

While these changes weren’t unexpected, the recomposition of the households added by necessity a new level of potential scrutiny to the Queen’s interaction with her former Prime Minister. While everyone from Peel on accepted, even approved, Melbourne’s familial intimacy with the Royal family they had no wish to invite salacious gossip from the newer members of the Household, watching jealously for chance of preferment. Thus he and the Queen contented themselves with an exchange of bland drawing room commonplaces when others were present.

When he was finally able to return to Windsor for an entire night Melbourne used the private servants’ passage to slip from his apartment through Victoria’s dressing room at bedtime. As always, her maid waited discreetly in the narrow corridor to light his passage and ensure no wayward servants found themselves close to the Queen’s apartments.

“I’ve missed you so!” Victoria exclaimed, flattening herself against him and wrapping her arms around his back. “Thank God you came tonight!” All thought of conversation fled as he felt her warmth. Instead he pressed her against the door and kissed her hungrily, all too ready to have her.

Afterward, panting a little and smiling contentedly, Victoria lay in his arms.

“Thank God I could come indeed,” He said, lifting a corner of his mouth in a small tight smile. “We leave tomorrow and ironically Stockmar arrives on the same tide.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know our beautiful Queen, the dashing Lord M and even Albert. For those who have need of an image to go with imperfect description, we will borrow that of Ben Robson and Jake Weary of the US Animal Kingdom series for the Irish Cameron brothers. Definitely not what would be the most ludicrous crossover in history, I borrow only their looks and a bit of the Cody attitude:) Without permission and definitely not intending any copyright infringement, with only the deepest admiration.


	4. Chapter 4

The Queen stood as they robed her in full court dress, magnificent cream satin embroidered with gold thread, full skirts and deep neckline the better to display her necklace of massive Turkish diamonds. She chose the George VI diadem and asked Skerrett to smooth her hair into a severe chignon. Her Mistress of the Robes assisted by two maids draped a cloth of gold mantle with its ermine collar around her shoulders. A ray of sun illuminated the whole so the Queen seemed to shimmer in a reflective aura. A young maid gasped audibly. “Ma’am, you look glorious!”

“Gloriana!” They all turned, tittering nervously to see a man in the Queen’s dressing room.

“You may leave us,” The Queen said sternly. “Lady Portman, please ensure the Household is assembled in the Throne Room. We will begin on schedule.”

Melbourne waited for them to be alone before approaching, then lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips, his gaze locked on hers.

“I have been with Liam. He doesn’t understand, of course. You will talk to him of me, read my letters?”

“Of course! Every day we shall talk of his Papa.” Victoria bit her lip. 

“Good. He is so young, I fear he will forget me.” His lips twisted in painful approximation of a smile. “But later...perhaps he will see my name somewhere in a footnote of his history book and remember...”

“Stop! He will still be our baby when you return. Three months, no more?” She clung to his hands.

“I will endeavor, ma’am. And if it drags on too long, you can command me to return, send a replacement, put young Ben Disraeli or Fred in charge of the summing up. I would be presumed to be in disgrace of course, but you could exile me to Brocket Hall and personally oversee my confinement.” Victoria knew he was struggling for levity. She ached to feel his arms about her but the circumference of her whalebone hoops posed an insurmountable barrier. As did her need to cling to her dignity as the only thing keeping her upright.

“William,” Victoria breathed. “Lord M.” Her blue eyes threatened to well with tears, more tears than she’d already shed during the night.

“Shush, my little love. You’ll see, the weeks will fly be and I’ll be home before you have time to properly miss me.”

“Will you miss me, William?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in a tiny smile.

“You know I will.” They looked at each other for a long moment. “My only love, my life, my whole world. Now...I shall take my place in the audience and await your commissioning. Ma’am.” He swept a graceful courtier’s bow and backed formally out of the room, leaving Victoria to compose herself.

In front of the assembled dignitaries, the gentlemen of the Privy Council, the combined Royal Households and a sprinkling of nobility the Prime Minister called forward the delegation. Victoria recited the speech William had helped draft, calling God’s blessing down on their mission and commissioning them to represent the Crown faithfully in pursuit of peace. Peel ritually presented each man before the Throne for their sovereign’s blessing, beginning with William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne. He knelt before her, head bowed, and Victoria followed the script he’d prepared, naming him Special Ambassador Extraordinaire of the British Empire. As he was about to rise she signaled the Lord High Chancellor, Baron Lyndhurst. He read the proclamation crafted at the Queen’s direction, naming William the first Knight of the Royal Victorian Order. When Lyndhurst finished he bowed low, first to the Queen and then to Lord Melbourne, and presented the blue sash he held, putting it over Melbourne’s head so it lay across his chest from right shoulder to left hip. Victoria took the medal from a velvet box - a Maltese cross with the Royal Crest surmounted by a Tudor crown - and pinned it to the sash, imagining she could feel his heart beat under her fingers. The Queen had worked with Chancellor and Privy Council for weeks to create this new order of chivalry that recognized distinguished personal service to the monarch. It would be for the reigning sovereign to award at their sole discretion and William Lamb would go down in history as the first Knight so honored.

The rest of the ceremony went quickly, with no more surprises. Victoria received each additional envoy traveling with Melbourne, said her few words over each, peripherally aware of him mouthing the words she delivered, of his approbation as she performed her role with graceful dignity. She had long since learned to hide her true feelings behind a pleasant, impenetrable mask and felt perverse gratitude to her childhood tormentor John Conroy. 

After the last bow and final benediction, her six envoys backed out of the Presence and he was gone.

As soon as she could Victoria took leave of those who had gathered, followed by the Praetorian Guard of her lady attendants. Lady Emma Portman was one of their number, and as soon as they were away from the public rooms Victoria turned to her.

“Emma, please dismiss them. I won’t need them today.”

“All of them, ma’am? There will be rumbling if you are entirely unattended.” 

“All of them, Emma. I don’t need a whole herd of females on my heels. You may stay if you wish. I - - I would be most grateful if you would.”

Lady Portman saw her Queen’s unhappy eyes and the strain in her face. She nodded, understanding. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

The Queen’s dressers removed her Court regalia and she donned a simple dress over only a single soft petticoat. She had them leave her hair down in a single thick braid and wrapped a cashmere shawl over her shoulders, craving softness and comfort. Later she would be Queen again; now she needed to be only a girl whose lover had gone away.

Emma Portman read her Queen’s mood and quietly worked on needlepoint, content enough to provide her understanding company. They sent for the child and let him play in the drawing room under the supervision of Baroness Lehzen.

“Your Majesty, have we prepared for Baron Stockmar’s arrival?” Lehzen asked at one point.

“I haven’t invited him, Lehzen, and I don’t want him here. If he insists on inviting himself I suppose we can offer a bedroom but he needn’t expect more. And Lehzen...to make it perfectly clear, you are the Crown Prince’s Governess and in control of the nursery. Until such time as Liam is old enough to begin his education there will be no changes. When that time comes, Lord Melbourne and I will determine who is in charge of his education.” Victoria knew she sounded strident and didn’t much care.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Of course, Your Majesty.”

“And I won’t have just anyone accessing the nursery. Should Baron Stockmar inquire, any alteration to Prince William’s routine must be addressed to me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Majesty.” Lehzen frowned at her darling. “Liebchen, is anything troubling you?”

“No, Lehzen...but I fear Stockmar’s arrival means he intends to interfere and I won’t have it. He doesn’t understand our...our situation, and if he did he would only try to...to...” Victoria bit her lip, trying to keep from crying. Lehzen immediately went to her.

“Oh Drina! We won’t let that horrible old man cause trouble. Your Lord M will be home soon and everything will be fine. You’ll see, these are just nerves making you worry for nothing.” Victoria rested her head on her old nurse’s shoulder and heaved a great, ragged sigh.

Dinner was formal and for once Victoria was grateful for the rigid protocol. She occupied the head of the table of course, Albert at the other end. The steward had placed Cameron on her left, fortunately determining that an Irish Viscount took precedence over a Coburg Baronetcy. She hadn’t encountered the gregarious Irishman in weeks and was content to acknowledge his sallies with an occasional remote smile. Lady Catherine Murray, on Victoria’s right, flirted with him outrageously, and Victoria was grateful to be spared the need to entertain either.

At Albert’s end of the table, on his left, the younger of the brothers - Daniel, Victoria thought - conversed intently with the Prince Consort. Stockmar, with Emma Portman on one side and the Countess of Charlemont on the other, appeared more interested in studying his former pupil than either of his dinner companions.

She became aware that the Viscount had addressed some unheard remark to her.

“Indeed?” Victoria smiled brightly, feigning attention. He startled her with his easy laughter.

“Is that the way you tell me to go peddle my fish, ma’am? Seems I’m not as charming as I thought.” He grinned at her. 

“I couldn’t say, Lord Cameron,” Victoria murmured, already losing the patience to maintain even a pretense of polite conversation.

“Or so they tell me at least, all these fine ladies with their flattering attention.” Victoria felt herself growing irked and looked to her right for relief. None was forthcoming; Lady Catherine seemed to have no interest in conversing with her Queen.

“Lady Catherine, I fear Lord Abermarle will call me out for monopolizing your attention.” He never lost his amiable expression, and the Irish lilt in his voice made the tone genial enough to nearly disguise the snub. The lady in question flushed and turned with poor grace to the elderly peer plying his fork on her distaff side. The Queen suppressed a sigh, not particularly grateful she must now endure Cameron’s full attention when all she wanted was to end this day and retire.

“It gets better, ma’am,” Cameron said softly. Victoria’s brows raised slightly in surprise.

“Whatever troubles you, it will get better. Everything does, given time.” Victoria compressed her lips, fearing she would be unable to repress a cutting response. Involuntarily she looked to her husband, thinking viciously, ‘Why can’t you keep your playthings under control, Albert?’ and when Cameron laughed out loud, was instantly mortified, thinking for a moment she’d spoken out loud. Cameron just looked at her, his eyes kindly, his expression amused.

Victoria stood quite suddenly, forcing everyone at table to do likewise as footmen rushed forward to clear the last course. She swept out, the ladies at table hastening in her wake.

***

For several weeks afterward Victoria remained in semi-seclusion, attending to her duties, focusing on the dispatches with diligence, but otherwise declining entertainments and dining privately. She considered Stockmar’s closeting himself with his former pupil most days a reprieve, even though it left the Crown Prince's favorite gentlemen companions at loose ends and found them congregating in her drawing room, entertained by her ladies, more often than not. On balance, Victoria considered anything which spared her the Baron's overbearing presence a blessing. Her weekly meeting with the Prime Minister was the only item on her calendar she anticipated eagerly. He brought news of William - of the treaty negotiations and diplomatic functions but also always an envelope addressed to her in Lord M’s hand.

By necessity this correspondence came by diplomatic pouch and William was understandably cautious about writing anything unfit for the eyes of others. During his time as Chief Secretary for Ireland he’d learned well the folly of trusting even supposedly secure Government correspondence. Still, his letters were personal and she could hear his voice, as he related the commonplace activities which made up his days, aphoristic descriptions of those he was working with, evening entertainments arranged for the diplomatic delegations descended on Paris. Victoria struggled to write her own. She couldn’t reply to each of his letters in turn, as she had to have hers ready to hand Peel. She confined herself to telling him Liam’s doings, the boy's lisping requests, then increasingly despotic demands, to see his father. She reported that Albert’s gentlemen, so lively and amusing, had been able to divert the little boy successfully on several occasions. Soldier-mad as most small boys, their son had appeared ridiculously tiny taken up - quite safely, of course - on the massive mount of a former military man to watch the Changing of the Guard. The little prince had been gifted a large mechanical train set and it was quite droll to see the gentlemen playing with it as gleefully as children. Victoria held each sheet close, kissing it, before sealing in its envelope for Peel to post.

On the first really warm spring day Baroness Lehzen burst in on Victoria and her ladies as they went over details of the first major debutante ball.

“Your Majesty! You must come and say something. They want to take Prince William!” The German governess exclaimed breathlessly. Victoria’s heart skipped a beat.

“Who? What? Stockmar? Lehzen, please explain.”

“Prince Albert and his friends, ma’am. They intend to take Prince William on an...outing. Without me or even his nursery maids. Without a Household Cavalry guard and you know Lord Melbourne has said the baby is never to appear in public without guards, because there are crazy people and radicals who could do the child harm. Oh, Majesty, please hurry!”

Victoria rose and, with her faithful Lady Portman, followed Lehzen to the nursery where all was pandemonium.

Prince Albert and several of his companions, dressed for riding, were surrounded by the nursery maids and an uncertain equerry. 

“What’s going on, Albert? Why all the fuss?” She asked her husband. 

“It’s a beautiful day and we are going on an outing. Nothing to concern yourself with, ma’am.”

“Without a carriage, only horses, and no one to attend the child, ma’am, and no guards.” Lehzen added, looking daggers at her fellow countryman.

“There are four of us, we hardly need guards. The prince is no longer a baby.”

“I see no harm if — you aren’t leaving Windsor Park of course? You would then need to arrange an escort. It is not safe for William to travel unescorted.” As Victoria spoke she saw an uncharacteristic look in Albert’s eyes. Anger? No, but perhaps...defiance.

“We are riding out in the country, yes. Through some villages, perhaps. No hotbed of rebel activity.” He paused, then looked directly at Victoria with something uncomfortably like challenge. “Surely as a father I don’t need to ask permission. I think the Baroness oversteps.”

Victoria’s eyes flashed with surprise and anger. She opened her mouth to say something; closed it again when one of Albert's companions spoke.

“Ah but Your Highness, mothers always worry. Daniel and I almost had our mum packing herself off to Kabul the first time we saw action.” Viscount Cameron punched his brother in the shoulder. “Eh, Danny? Old Nott might not have lost it if she would have been there. Remember the old lady’s conniptions when Father bought us our colors and packed us off to the Army? Half expected her to face down Ellenborough to demand our immediate return.” He was absurdly forward, Victoria thought, but he brought down the tension with his silly prattle.

“Ma’am, your boy will come to no harm with us. He can ride up before me again - you liked my big horse last time, didn’t you, Prince William? - and I give you my word he’ll be back before dinner.” 

Victoria couldn’t help but see the look of understanding he directed her way, as if he were aware of the subtext, things he could not, should not know. Victoria was confident that Albert was well aware if he were ever to express doubt of the child’s paternity it would cause scandal for the Crown, but he would render himself irrelevant or worse. If he was not the putative father of the heir, he was an unnecessary expense with a prediliction for the company of men, no more. All this and more went quickly through Victoria’s mind, along with one name: Stockmar.

She nodded. “Very well. Liam, be good and do as the gentlemen say. Lord Cameron will be your own soldier for the day. So you see, you do not travel without guard.”

The boy propelled himself from Albert’s arms to that of the much bigger man, who caught and held him easily.

The Queen leaned forward to kiss her child, uncomfortably aware of her proximity to the man who held him high. She heard his voice in her ear. “Expect us back before long. I don’t doubt His Highness will find this infant not quite as ready for manly sport as he’s been told.” Victoria allowed her gaze to meet his for a moment and she was aware of a feeling of gratitude, mixed with her unease.

Behind her, two women glared, almost comically matched in their tight-lipped expressions of disapproval: Baroness Lehzen and Lady Portman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I took quite a large liberty with the Royal Victorian Order, which the Queen didn't actually create until 1896. The specifics of the Order are so uniquely suited to Lord M's "personal service" to the monarch I had to borrow it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder (casting note?): The role of Billy Cameron is played by actor Ben Robson of US series Animal Kingdom, should you want to Google his image. Definitely not a crossover, simply a new part for him to play:)

Melbourne had known Henry Wellesley, 1st Baron Cowley and younger brother to the venerable Duke of Wellington, his entire life. He was sharp, understood the niceties of his post and looked forward eagerly to upcoming retirement. Their personal lives had ran in parallel for much of that time, Wellesley’s wife running off with a peer in somewhat less celebrated fashion than Caro’s Byron obsession but a humiliating blow all the same. His career had taken him through a variety of diplomatic postings and Melbourne found him a pragmatist about what was and wasn’t possible. He’d spend time in a French prison during the height of the terror and shared Melbourne’s essential distaste for extreme views of every persuasion.

Cowley welcomed the presence of a special delegation to hammer out mutual agreements on Hong Kong, Egypt, Turkey and Syria, preferring to remain above the fray. Melbourne found him an easy man to talk to, easier than the fiery Disraeli, less of a droning bore than Lord Stanley’s man and with no taint of the City like the former East India Company man who had – Melbourne assumed – purchased his way into Crown service.

Melbourne, by his own estimation, contributed most by maintaining civil discourse when everyone seemed determined to shout their way out of an impasse. He generally saw both sides of every issue. The inevitable insistence by Russia that Britain’s treaty of Nanking must, if allowed to stand, be offset by Russian gains in Syria and Egypt was an example of the need for compromise. Since Napier’s fleet had driven Mehmet’s occupying troops out of Egypt, Stanley’s direction was to hold fast and not cede an inch of influence or soil in peace talks that had been won in war. Melbourne listened with every appearance of drowsy inattention, then interrupted the flow of cross-talk with a gently humorous observation apropos of nothing; with sighs, he gently begged the esteemed gentlemen to explain some key point and led them to his own conclusion seemingly without deliberate intent. His own brother Frederick, a seasoned diplomat, could only observe with appreciative awe the quiet effectiveness of Melbourne’s nonchalant, even disinterested air.

Evenings in Paris were spent at fêtes, balls and dinners. Paris hostesses vied to provide lavish entertainment. Melbourne enjoyed the company of the witty, well-borne Parisiennes. He was an especial favorite of Princess Lieven. Dorothea had been a close friend of his Melbourne’s sister Emily - they were patronesses of Almack's together - and Palmerston when she was in London and after her brief, unhappy return to Russia had set up in Paris. The friendship and patronage of the Princess and Francois Guizot made Melbourne’s stay less onerous than it might have been. At the Lieven salon he met everyone who was anyone from every corner of Europe and established a friendly rapport which did much to further his cause. Melbourne had always thrived on such social interaction – he was never much at home in his own company unless immersed in a book – but found that it all seemed slightly tedious now. He knew where to lay the blame for his ennui, chiding himself that a man of his years and experience shouldn’t pine like a lovelorn youth. Yet the same women he would have found appealing, if not irresistible, in years past were no longer so. Accredited beauties seemed overdone, and the most scintillating conversationalists seemed to try too hard to be witty. He admitted to his own prejudice, that he missed a pair of large blue eyes looking up at him with frank adoration, the effortless flow of their conversation, the way she made him feel. No accomplished lover – and he recognized the invitations extended to him in that regard also – could possibly replace the innocent ardor of the young woman he had awakened to pleasures of the flesh. Melbourne appreciated the undoubted spectacle he made of himself, standing alone in ballrooms, carefully monitoring his conversation to avoid even the most preliminary flirtation, a rake reformed into a lovelorn fool.

Nonetheless he managed to entertain himself fairly well. Princess Lieven in particular indulged him in agreeable light-hearted conversation and even went so far as to redirect the most amorously inclined habitués of her salon to spare him the effort. The woman knew everyone in Europe, gossip and influence her stock in trade so he circumvented any open acknowledgment that would be the single most valuable commodity in her storied career, yet he found some comfort in conceding at least the generalities of his peculiar situation.

“So, William…it is true that our most estimable roué is no longer…available?” Dorothea had chuckled. “I have heard rumblings, from dear Emily and even Princess Esterházy. But no marriage announcement?”

“No marriage announcement, Dorothea,” He agreed. 

“And yet…?” She prompted, her eyes eager.

“And yet,” He responded agreeably.

“So you have given your heart to a lady who is not convenable?”

“If you say so, Dorothea.”

“Oh, you!” She tapped him with her fan in a gesture that might have been coquettish in one less venerable. “Not that horrid Sheridan woman who writes such earnest pamphlets?”

“I can’t as a gentleman agree with your characterization of the lady in question but…no.”

“So then…it is as whispered. She who can not be named?” Melbourne laughed softly at the bright eyes watching his response so eagerly.

“Princess, may we move on to another topic?”

“I suppose…” She sighed with disappointment. “Only, from one who is like a sister to you...she makes you happy, this mystery woman to whom you have given your heart?”

“Oh, yes…” It was Melbourne’s turn to sigh, as his eyes turned misty. “She makes me very happy.”

Dear Lord M,  
We are very busy with the levees and preparing for the spring balls. Emma is as always a great help and even consolation to me when I am troubled. I am learning to know my new Ladies and try not to have favorites, but one can not always control whom one likes. Albert is kept busy most days with Baron Stockmar. I do not know what business occupies them but I fear it is much taxing to my dear husband as he rarely has time even for his closest companions. The gentlemen of his household are excluded from his work with the Baron so spend much time in my drawing room entertaining the ladies. Lady Lyttleton is much exercised when they encourage our younger attendants in an excess of frivolity. Emma and I find it quite amusing to watch them. I suspect when my husband wishes to resume his former interests he will find some of his companions have formed attachments elsewhere. Lord Billy Cameron calls this the “Petticoat Brigade”, which we find quite droll. He is a rough character as always but seems to have the heart of a true gentleman, seeking to defuse tensions and make us smile. Liam has grown quite attached to “his soldier” and sometimes rides out with the Viscount, looking absurdly tiny (held very safely, I promise you) on Lord C’s extremely large mount. My health continues to be good. I will soon need new gowns, certainly in another month, as one would expect. My mood is variable. Some days pass quickly with much activity and I forget to be lonely until I retire. Other days do drag on endlessly and I feel I can’t bear it. That is when Lord C is much to be praised, as his foolishness and sallies make me laugh when I think nothing will. We look forward to the conclusion of this endless spring and the beginning of summer when you have assured us all will be back to normal.  
VR

Melbourne was both tolerably pleased and perversely disappointed to see how well the Queen took to heart his warnings about trusting even the most ostensibly secure diplomatic pouch. He was pleased that her letters, while certainly informal in tone, contained nothing that would incriminate her, and yet disappointed that she did not write as his uninhibited, unabashedly-in-love Victoria. Still he read and re-read each line to capture her meaning. The Prince Consort closeting himself with Stockmar, of course – that was worrying, all the more so since Victoria seemed to imply that even his nights were no longer spent with his “companions”. Understandable that he would want to conceal that particular aspect of his life from his father-appointed tutor, yet the Prince was now a married man of 23, no longer subject to father or tutor. What could an ambitious political advisor to the throne of Coburg, not England, have to say to anything? Why didn’t Albert send the man packing, as the Queen clearly wished? As for her mention of Cameron, Melbourne noted it and was aware of the tiniest twinge of…something. He swiftly reminded himself that Victoria was steadfast and unwavering since she first gave her heart to him completely and without hesitation, and she had an innate dignity which precluded familiarity, far less flirtation. She was not Caro, not an ordinary woman. She was Alexandrina Victoria.

After he read her letter he took pen to paper to answer her quickly, aware even as he did so that by necessity their correspondence would cross and anything he said would be a week out of date. Determined not to make too much of any one thing, he chose his words carefully.

Your Majesty,  
Lord Melbourne sends his most fond regards. I am pleased to hear you continue in good health. It has been a wet spring here but Paris is suddenly all abloom so that it becomes apparent why the poets celebrate “April in Paris” as the most transcendent of months. All seems stable on the continent and travel resumes apace – many of our countrymen again make their Grand Tour and some evenings find more Englishmen than French at the entertainments in the capital. I hope someday I may have the honor of showing you this beautiful city. We are entertained lavishly, until it becomes a rare treat to spend a single quiet evening. The balls are fine but I find I have little energy for dancing here. I am sure that will remedy itself when I again waltz at Your Majesty’s balls. As Peel will tell you, we make good progress and feel certain that all should be concluded by the end of spring. Perhaps by summer Your Majesty will feel any dancing best put off until the cooler months of autumn. I am somewhat concerned to hear of His Highness’s current focus. He is an intelligent and energetic young man and perhaps needs to find means to direct his energies towards the good of England and not that of his former homeland. Anson is a good man and, should the Prince wish to consult him, might find some worthy occupation. There had been talk of an exposition, I recall, that might well benefit from His Highness’s oversight. It is indeed picturesque to envision His Royal Highness Prince William riding out on horseback with, as you put it, ‘his soldier’. When I return perhaps Your Majesty would accept the small gift of a pony for HRH to be kept at Brocket for those times Your Majesty and Prince William grace the Hall with a visit. Please give my most fond regards to the little Prince.  
M

Melbourne reviewed what he’d written and regretted the need to avoid everything he wanted to say. Knowing that telling her how desperately he yearned to hold her, make love to her as her eyes widened and breath quickened with the delight she took in his touch, caress her stomach as his child quickened, were things that could never be committed to paper. He wanted to remind her that she was his world, and he no longer found pleasure in anything not shared with her. Melbourne imagined the exquisite pleasure of escorting her into a Parisian ballroom, not as Queen of England but merely as the ravishing fresh-faced girl he loved, of showing her wonders she would exclaim over wide-eyed. He imagined having the opportunity to show her Rome, the eternal city, Venice…he shook his head to clear it of cobwebs, laughing softly at his folly and sealed his letter to the Queen.

***  


Victoria held her breath as Skerrett tightened her corset. As much as she detested the confining rigidity, she wanted to avoid any telltale bulge. Foolish as it might be, she didn’t want news of her condition to become public knowledge until after William was home. This was at least one thing they had in common away from the eyes of the world and so it would remain until he was back in England.

“That’s as small as it will go, ma’am. Any tighter would not be good for…for Your Majesty,” Her maid said, standing back. Two helpers held aloft the gown she would wear, a pale frothy concoction in the color Skerrett called “blush”, not quite white and not actually pink, which Victoria loathed. Her hair was arranged in a deceptively casual mass of curls with tiny seed pearls woven through. If Lord M could not be here she would still wear his flowers, sent from his gardeners at Brocket Hall, tiny tea roses in the palest pink shade in her hair. Her dress bared both shoulders and showed a daring amount of cleavage, something her dresser assured her was quite au courant at a ball.

“There, ma’am. What do you think?” Skerrett stood back and Victoria glanced at her reflection. She missed the frisson of excitement she would feel if anticipating Lord M’s reaction. Without him to dress for, she contented herself that nothing in her appearance was amiss and remembered to thank her dresser.

“Very well, Miss Skerrett, thank you.”

Albert waited in her drawing room, for once not accompanied by his grim German advisor. He bowed. “Madame?” He offered his arm to lead her into the ball.

Victoria sat, Albert standing at her side, as the procession of young ladies escorted by their proud mothers advanced for the ritual of their presentation. It was tedious beyond belief, Victoria reflected, as she dutifully welcomed each one with some small comment signifying she knew their name, their family, their position in society. A few were genuine beauties, most of the others varying degrees of pleasant and plain, and Victoria found herself glancing up to see how many remained.

“Lady Castelmaine,” She greeted the next matron.

“Your Majesty, may I present Miss Constance Cameron? She is the daughter of the Earl of Clancarton. Her parent was unable to attend so I have the honor of escorting her.” Victoria looked at the girl curiously. Miss Cameron was a thin girl, with none of her brothers’ look and vitality. Her hair was a nondescript dull blonde and her gown, although clearly costly, not in the first style of elegance. Her eyes were sharp though – this girl misses nothing, Victoria thought, smiling graciously and extending her hand.

Sometime later Victoria was aware that the younger brother stood near Albert, talking softly. He was not as tall as the elder Cameron, but definitely as handsome, affecting a sweeping cavalry mustache and bright blonde hair.

“I must ask the young lady to dance. This will ensure her social success, so I’m told,” Albert said, rolling his eyes and snickering. Victoria was relieved to see him relaxed enough without Stockmar’s disapproving presence to joke with his favorite companion. Perhaps now, she thought, he will tell that man to leave them be and we can go back to the way things were, Albert relaxed and pleased with himself, surrounded by his own friends and pursuing his own interests, and not goaded into upsetting the delicate balance of their arrangement.

“You honor her,” Victoria laughed. “As you never take the floor with any lady, you will make her quite distinguished.” She watched her husband saunter off to bow over the young woman's hand.

“Majesty, will you waltz with me?” She turned to see Viscount Cameron, surprisingly debonair in evening attire.

“You cut your hair off!” Victoria was surprised into blurting out an inappropriately personal observation and blushed.

“Nah, that would be Sampson, not I, ma’am. See?” He turned to show her his shoulder length hair gathered neatly in a ribbon, so much like the fashion of a hundred years before. Cameron held out his hand and waited, grinning, to see whether Victoria would consent.

“You dance well for a big man,” Victoria said as he led her around the floor. He was so muscular and athletic she had thought he would be clumsy on the dance floor, but he was surprisingly graceful, guiding her with ease.

“And you dance well for such a little fairy princess. In the nursery tales you’d be flitting around with your little wings fluttering, yet here you are.” He exaggerated his brogue for effect and Victoria laughed.

When the dance ended he escorted her off the floor. “Thirsty business, ma’am. Champagne?” He signaled one of the servants holding laden trays aloft. Victoria accepted a flute.

“Your mother was unable to attend tonight? We sent her a card for the ball.” Cameron leaned back against the wall, lowering himself enough to look her in the face.

“Our mother’s not quite the thing, ma’am, and she well knows it. Your Majesty was gracious to invite her but she would not attend. Not proper to receive her, y’know.”

“Lord Cameron, I believe it is at my discretion who I receive at court. If I think it proper to receive her, who could think otherwise?” Cameron laughed.

“Very liberal of you, ma’am, but others would not agree. If she were to show up it would ruin all my sister’s chances and we do want to marry her off. Trust me, she’s harridan enough already. But your gesture was kind and much appreciated.”

“Very well. Perhaps you will bring her to a less formal occasion. I’ve heard the talk and it quite puzzles me why gentlemen can engage in all sort of scandalous behavior and still be received in society, yet the ladies with whom they conduct their….behavior are ostracized.” Victoria was shocked to see him laughing softly, slapping his knees.

“Ma’am, I doubt you’ve heard the right talk. M’mother ran the finest whorehouse in Dublin. Begging Your Majesty's pardon.” He spoke casually enough, and smiled, but his eyes gauged her reaction.

Victoria was shocked into silence by his plain speech and her face showed it. Only because he had such merry eyes and seemed genuinely amused, she uncertainly returned his smile with her own.

As he walked her companionably back to her seat, regaling her with running commentary on his fellow guests, Victoria and her Irish lord were watched by more than a few onlookers.

Lady Portman and Lady Palmerston were two of those watching the Queen. They exchanged long glances.

“Emily,” Lady Portman murmured. ‘I think it’s time William came home.”

Victoria stayed quite late, and did not reach her bed until past 3. The next morning she was slow to rise. Only Emma Portman awaited her in the breakfast room.

“Coffee, please, Emma.” The Queen blinked sleep out of her eyes and stretched, looking much like a small cat, Lady Portman thought. She poured the Queen’s coffee and set it before her.

“Your Majesty slept late. You must have enjoyed yourself at the ball.”

“Once the endless parade of ingénues had passed it was quite pleasant. We must send a note to William, telling him how admirably his greenhouses contributed to the occasion. Several people commented that the ballroom felt like a garden, amidst all those blooms.”

“Yes, indeed. Brocket Hall flowers brought the garden indoors.” Lady Portman smiled, but her eyes watched the Queen closely. “Your Majesty danced several waltzes. Your poor feet must be quite bruised, dancing with that clodhopper.”

Victoria, heavy-lidded, inhaled steam from her coffee. “Mmmm….he actually dances quite well, Emma. My feet are unmarked.” Lady Portman noted that “he” needed no specification.

“Lord Cameron was quite the envy of many other gentlemen. You normally only dance with those whose rank entitles them to such honor. And of course Lord Melbourne.”

Victoria sat up a little straighter and looked at her companion shrewdly. “Emma, what are you saying? Are you one of those who think an Irish title doesn’t signify? I am the Queen of Ireland as well, you know.”

Lady Portman shook her head, laughing easily. “I apologize if that’s what it sounded like, ma’am. I meant no such thing…exactly. Only, the Viscount and his brother seem quite…familiar. Perhaps that’s because they don’t fully understand Court protocol.”

“Emma, all Albert’s gentlemen companions are as you say, familiar. It’s always been that way. We accept and encourage the Prince’s friendships, and if a dance or two rewards one of his most faithful…companions, then it’s a small price to pay. Besides, I find Lord Cameron quite genteel, beneath his somewhat boisterous manner. He has the instincts of a true gentleman, if that term still has any meaning.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty. I must say, he certainly looked the gentleman last night, the nobleman even. I had no idea he could play the part so well. Quite handsome, actually. I had never noticed before. Does Your Majesty agree?”

Victoria paused, considering. “I suppose he was, yes. I can’t say I notice his appearance. He does make me laugh and that is what I notice. I have not otherwise felt much like laughing recently, as I know you understand.”

Lady Portman, no stranger to dissembling, looked at the Queen’s guileless – if somewhat annoyed – expression. While age and experience had taught Victoria some reticence, she knew the Queen to be still incapable of outright falsehood, relying on evasion and haughty disdain. Nothing in her mistress’s flashing blue eyes seemed to indicate either deception or undue warmth toward the subject of their discussion. Still…

“I understand, Your Majesty. But perhaps he does not. And you know how quickly gossip can spread, once started.”

Lady Portman saw the precise moment comprehension came to the Queen. A flush spread across Victoria’s cheeks, her eyes flashed dangerously, her nostrils flared.

“You may assure any who gossip, Emma, that I do not engage in…flirtation with anyone. Viscount Cameron is one of my husband’s companions. I think it is widely known that Albert’s special friends do not indulge in flirtations with ladies.” Victoria pronounced each word with icy dignity. Then, looking directly at William’s oldest friend, her friend too, she thought, she softened, looking once more not like a sovereign but like the very young lady she was.

“Emma, you of all people know that I would not, would never…because someone can be relied upon to make me laugh, is comfortable to be with…Emma, that would be as if they were to gossip about me and…my HORSE!” As the Queen’s vehement speech spluttered to an end she heard herself and broke into a giggle. Then she impulsively reached for the older woman’s hands and clasped them. “Dear Emma, you have been with us – with William and I – since the beginning. You surely know that he is the only man in the world I desire!”

Victoria remembered their talk later. She turned the idea around in her mind. Viscount Cameron? No! She considered his appearance the night before. He cut a dashing figure in his close-fitting black velvet jacket, she supposed. And she had begun to feel very comfortable in his presence, as someone who could be relied on, much as dear Lehzen or Emma herself. Perhaps that was what having a brother was like? She did not know. Victoria searched her mind, her heart, remembered the twisting heat in her stomach the very first time Lord M knelt before her and kissed her hand. Remembered his every look, his glances that seemed to speak volumes, that quirk of his mouth when he wanted to smile but dare not. Remembered the melting sensation she had never not felt when thinking of him, the need to press herself against him and feel his arms around her, drowning in his beautiful green eyes. No, she thought, she had never felt – would never feel – anything like that for anyone but Lord M. The idea of a particular attachment to big, rough, amusing and – yes, she admitted – handsome Billy Cameron was absurd. He was indeed like her horse, or more accurately, like a big friendly retriever, Dash with far more size and latent ferocity. She meant no slight, only that to her, he would never be more. He was no Lord M.


	6. Chapter 6

Francis Albert Augustus Charles Emmanuel, Prince of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, Duke of Saxony and Prince Consort of the United Kingdom, stared out his window on a beautiful spring morning, feeling out of sorts and as alone as he'd ever been. Below him, a party was riding out – the Queen rode with the ladies of her household and the gentlemen of his. He could see them laughing gaily, see outriders following with picnic hampers and pony cart for the boy. He felt unaccountably irritated at the sight, despite having no wish to be a member of the party, despite having curtly dismissed his attendants earlier.

His Serene Highness had lived the past three years a life of indolence and self-indulgence, and had only himself to blame for the situation he found himself in, so said Baron Stockmar. Albert had been raised on good German principles of industry and austerity and he had, while embracing the freedom his marriage gave him to live as he wanted without shame, taken that freedom too far. He’d his choice of male companions, but even exploring those sensual pleasures so heady and intoxicating for a boy of 19 had grown stale. He knew himself to not be cut out for a purely hedonic life. It was, to be fair, not Stockmar’s arrival but Van Wettin’s defection that had prompted Albert’s season of discontent. George, his penniless university friend and first serious lover, had apprenticed himself to Charles Barry, one of the architects rebuilding the Palace of Westminster after the great fire of 1834. That led to recognition and further commissions and increasing time spent with his mentor on the new projects which flooded in. Albert watched George grow successful, respected and ambitious, beginning to earn a name for himself in his chosen occupation. As much as the Prince had mocked him for being no more than a tradesman during bitter arguments, he envied him both profession and sense of purpose. Despite desperately offered rewards and even more desperately hurled imprecations, Albert helplessly watched as his first serious love affair gutted out like an untrimmed candle.

There were always others of course, young men of birth and family with a similar attraction to members of the same sex, quite happy to have a position at court that allowed them to indulge their inclinations, but none of those dalliances were serious or long-lasting. Unlike Albert – and he knew himself to be uniquely fortunate in that regard – others would return to their families after weeks or months and step back into the life that was expected of them. He understood that the society they lived in offered no other respectable choice, but it hurt nonetheless.

Victoria, of course, had her Lord M. Albert didn’t like admitting even to himself how well he understood her feelings, or that he could too easily let his own tendré for the devastatingly handsome Melbourne become all-consuming infatuation. Most of all, he bitterly envied their unity, that unbreakable bond between them. The careful courtesy they showed him, their tact and consideration, sometimes felt more like condescension and only emphasized his solitary state in this marriage of convenience and in his own household. No, he corrected himself, her household, her court, her palaces, her country.

Albert had begun to think of himself as a useless appendage drifting through life without purpose or meaning, while everyone else around him was tethered to something – lover, vocation, family, title, ambition or even greed. He was neither as gullible nor as easily led as Stockmar thought. Albert was well aware of the man’s purpose and the stratagems he used. He saw the ways in which Stockmar exaggerated slights and small frustrations to fuel his discontent, undermine his self-confidence and magnify his ever-present fear of appearing ridiculous. Awareness, however, didn’t preclude efficacy. Stockmar’s solution was political; he considered Melbourne to be Albert’s enemy, an obstacle to be maneuvered around until he could be removed. That was not something Albert was willing to concede as yet, but also not something he wished to openly dispute, so instead he implemented as many other of the Baron’s suggestions as he could reasonably manage. 

Albert’s omnipresent coterie of male companions were one of the most flagrant offenses Stockmar cited. The Baron protested their visible presence at Court and in his household; he never alluded to that other, more private role they played but sometimes Albert wished he would, if only to see whether his old tutor would acknowledge those early influences which had helped shape him. Albert had agreed that in order to be taken seriously, he could no longer allow these mostly frivolous young men to loiter without purpose, costing as much as the bevy of actresses supported by his wife's uncles. Such lax standards of public conduct would no longer be tolerated. The sinecures he had handed out so liberally would be ended. Dismissing those companions who held easy well-paid positions would be unpleasant. He recalled Melbourne once commenting how much easier it was to take the unpopular side first than to shift from popular to unpopular later, a shift so difficult it was nearly impossible to maintain. He resolved to let Anson handle any dismissals. 

And then there was Lehzen. That was a battle Albert would fight another day. There was no love lost between himself and the Baroness. Her deference to Lord Melbourne in all matters regarding the Crown Prince was humiliating, but he lacked the resolve to deal with her as Stockmar suggested, knowing how fiercely the Queen would fight to keep her. But what could she do, after all, if he exerted himself on such a matter? They had an effective stalemate, both of them forced to work in tandem to maintain the pretty little illusion of the Royal Marriage.

“Good morning, Highness,” His private secretary strode into the room, setting down the papers he carried.

“Good morning, Anson.” Albert considered George Anson a friend and confidant, his conduit to life outside palace walls. He was well-connected, having served Melbourne in the same capacity when he was Prime Minister, and each day brought, along with that morning’s papers, illuminating glimpses into what was being discussed in the city. Anson was a charter member of Grisham’s, a dining club geared towards bankers and respectable merchants. Those industrious gentlemen had, in Anson’s estimation and Albert’s, their fingers on the pulse of the nation more surely than patrons in the rarified atmospheres of White’s or Brook’s.

“So tell me what’s new in the City,” Albert said, inviting the other man to sit.

“Well, sir, the Company men are still grumbling that they’re not making enough money out of Sindh. The whole point of underwriting annexation from their point of view was to use it as a market for British products and a source of revenue and raw materials. Ellenborough’s whole focus was on consolidating British rule. So there you have it – as long as profit rules, law is going to take distant second place.”

“The Indian Slavery Act passed despite East India Company opposition,” Albert reminded him.

“Politically yes, but as long as the culture of the country upholds the caste system and indentured servitude persists, it will have no teeth.” Anson prepared coffee for himself and Albert, and handed the Prince his cup. He began opening and reading the cards and letters.

“Viscount Eversley invites you to dine,” Anson reported. “Will you accept?”

“Me? Not Her Majesty?” Albert lifted a brow.

“Not Her Majesty. He invites you to join him at his club.”

“By all means, yes. It is seldom enough I receive invitations in my name. I wonder what he wishes to discuss.”

“I will make inquiries, Your Highness."

“What else is there? I’d like to finish before Baron Stockmar joins us.” Albert looked nervously at the clock, then the door.

“Yes, Your Highness. The Baron does tend to slow things down, reading and discussing every bit of your correspondence.” Anson flipped over a few more pieces of mail, sorting quickly to see which needed the Prince’s attention. “Your Highness, there has been talk – just idle talk, mind you –of wishing to see the best of British industry and our many modern advances displayed at a sort of fair…an exhibition. Beat the French, who are rumored to be considering some such thing, and show off our remarkable progress in scientific inventions. Our manufactories, the textile industries. Might be a sop to the Company as well, let them sponsor it. Anyway, just an idea I thought Your Highness might find interesting, knowing your affinity for science, industry, progress in general. An affair like that would be a Herculean endeavor. It would take a great deal of organizing to even sketch an outline, but if you thought such a thing had any merit you might bring it up to Cole, perhaps Dilke, before the next Royal Society meeting.”

Albert pushed back his hair and sat across from his secretary. “Tell me more, George. What would this be? How big? Something for the public or – what if ---” He began eagerly discussing the concept Anson had suggested, soon enough convinced it had been his idea.

For the first time during his visit, when Stockmar entered his former pupil didn’t stand to greet him. He cleared his throat brusquely to announce his arrival.

“I see Your Highness is still occupied. Shall I come back?” Prince Albert glanced up, then back down at the notes he was scribbling.

“Yes – no, no, we are finished here.” His secretary slid the mail into his portfolio and prepared to depart.

“You can leave that. The Prince and I will go over everything once more so if he requires advice on any issue I will address it.” George Anson looked to his master pointedly.

“That’s quite all right, Baron. I think we’ve covered everything satisfactorily. That will be all, George.”

“If I may – I have received a quite flattering invitation from Eversley. Speaker of your House of Commons. Have you likewise received one? I thought he would be a good man for you to become better acquainted with, since Her Majesty continues to insist on seeing the Prime Minister alone. Eversley is no friend to Melbourne, you know. He could be very useful to your interests, Albert – Your Highness.” The Prince almost hid a sigh. 

“I have accepted his invitation, Baron. How fortuitous that his impulse to become better acquainted coincides so well with your views on the matter.”

Baron Stockmar nodded his head in a small bow. “Indeed, Your Highness. Mr. Anson, would you please notify the Queen’s secretary that His Highness will attend her. This afternoon at, say, 4:00PM?”

“Sir, that is when the Queen has her audience with Peel,” George Anson replied. 

“Yes. I believe His Highness and Her Majesty will wish to make an announcement to Peel together, so that will be convenient for all. Thank you.”

***** 

Victoria’s cheeks flamed with color and her eyes blazed. Robert Peel, seeing without understanding his Queen’s reaction, bowed formally to first Her Majesty and then the Prince Consort.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, please allow me to be the first to congratulate you on this wonderful news! I know Mrs. Peel would likewise wish me to send her felicitations.”

Victoria said nothing, glaring at the Prince Consort, who refused to meet her eyes.

“Thank you, Sir Robert. You will make any necessary announcement to Parliament?” Albert stood stiffly in place, his expression defiant.

Peel, like any married man with eyes would, had noticed the tiny Queen’s thickening waist and assumed she would announce an interesting condition in due time. It came as no surprise when the Prince joined them today to make such announcement.

“Is that quite necessary yet, Prime Minister? This will be a second child, the country has its heir.” Victoria snapped curtly.

“Well, ma’am…I don’t know that it’s necessary but as I’ve been told, I don’t feel it proper to not convey the news to my colleagues.” Peel responded.

“Very well. As you say, your colleagues should know what you do. Please send a packet to our Paris mission at once, by courier, informing them. After all, they should not be late to get the news that, as you say, you already have. I think it proper that in all cases, the announcement comes from your office.”

The Queen tightened her lips and stared at her Prime Minister angrily. He was not sure what he’d done but felt his unease in her presence ratchet up a few notches.

“Yes, ma’am. Good day, ma’am. Your Highness.” He bowed and backed three steps before turning to leave the room.

“How dare you? What was that?” Victoria hissed at her husband.

“I only told him what everyone can see. Did you think no one noticed? Victoria, your condition is quite apparent and has been for some time. Do you imagine we’re all stupid?”

“I planned to delay any official acknowledgement. If I carry a child – a second child – it is no one’s business but mine.” She turned her back on him.

“Does Melbourne know?”

“Yes, of course. I told him before he left. I planned to wait until he returned to make any public announcement. Now he will hear it proclaimed in the company of strangers. Thanks to you! And how dare you intrude on my meeting with my Prime Minister anyway? You overstep yourself, Albert.”

“You didn’t see fit to tell me privately either. I remind you, it makes us both look foolish at best, complicit at worst, when I receive congratulations on a blessed event I know nothing about. If I am to acknowledge your children without the duty of making them, I should at least be told to expect another another birth.”

“May I remind you that if you were not here to acknowledge my children, this country would not need to pay you £50,000 a year and another £50,000 to support your household and the lifestyle to which you’ve become accustomed. In fact, this country would not need you at all. Get out!” Albert’s own temper flared. He turned on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

_Dear Lord M, You will receive from this same courier a letter from Robert Peel announcing the expected birth of a second royal child in late August or early September. We were not planning to share this news quite yet but Prince Albert was so overcome at the prospect he quite forgot to consult my wishes before proclaiming it. He barged into my meeting with Sir Robert and told him. So there you have it. I will write more soon. Please write more often. I so long to see those letters your hands have touched. Tell me everything, anything, all the ordinary commonplaces of your day, what you eat, what you wear, so I may imagine myself with you. VR_

_Your Majesty,  
May I be, if not the first, then the most eager and sincere, to tell you I rejoice at the news of your upcoming blessed event? We received the news by special messenger, Peel saying that he did not want us to be behind the House and, inevitably, the rest of society in hearing such wonderful tidings. I trust HRH Prince William doesn’t quite understand yet that he will soon become a big brother? I was the same age he will be when my sister was born. You may tell him from me that, although it might not seem so at first, little sisters can be quite a delight. As can brothers, of course. Another son would be splendid, but somehow I feel sure Your Majesty can expect a Princess Royal. Perhaps I am wrong. Either boy or girl, a healthy baby born of love will be a true blessing and bring much joy to both parents. Whatever the course of our endeavors in Paris – and there is talk now of sending us on to St. Petersburg after all - I hope that at least some of your special ambassadors will be back in London well before your anticipated event. Perhaps, if this thing drags on much longer, Peel will be convinced to send fresh blood and permit some of us to retire. I will do my humble best to write more frequently and not only when I have something of some small importance to say. When you read these tedious missives, please recall I bore you with such prose only in humble obedience to Your Majesty’s wishes. Soon I will return and you may see for yourself what I eat and what I wear, as I will be with you. Please extend my most earnest congratulations to the Prince Consort. M_


	7. Chapter 7

Victoria had passed a restless, miserable night. After her outburst at Albert, dinner was an uncomfortable affair, made bearable for both of them only by the length of table and the candelabra and conversation separating them. She regretted her words, wished she could take them back but every time she imagined apologizing she remembered his actions and anger flared anew. If he had spoken out accidentally, had he been honestly unaware that she did not intend to inform Peel about her pregnancy yet, she could have forgiven him. What infuriated and unsettled her was that he had so clearly intended to shove his way in to a situation that did not concern him, any more than management of the nursery, or the country for that matter, should concern him. Albert had, she thought, everything he had ever wanted and more, a royal title, a large income and the freedom to spend it as he wished, the right to live out his own truth as he saw fit. He and his companions were not only tolerated, they were regarded with affection and fully accepted at Court and in the private life of the royal household. But he was not, and never would be her true husband or father even in custom, much less in fact, to the children she bore William. This was as it should be, as Albert had agreed when they discussed the possibility of a marriage convenient to both of them. They were all friends, she had thought, Albert, William and herself. Little Liam viewed Albert as a friendly big brother or favored uncle. Why, then, must he suddenly change everything?

Victoria curled up in her big bed alone, wrapped her arms about herself, drew up her knees against her burgeoning belly, and imagined it was William who held her. She felt hollow inside, all atremble, as though some vital organ was missing and left only a cold spot in its place. Oh, Lord M, she thought, where are you? I can’t do this alone, I can’t do anything alone. She sobbed in the quiet darkness, craving his smell, his touch. Wanted to trace her fingers along his sharp cheekbones, kiss the tender flesh at the corners of his wonderful green eyes, those eyes that had never looked at her without secret warmth. She cried into the night as though her words would be carried to his ear, as if they could communicate across thousands of miles by heart sounds alone.

Gradually she calmed and coherent thoughts began to form, as though he was at hand to advise her. His calm, wise, unflappable demeanor stilled her and she began to formulate plans.

Victoria rose early and was awaiting Skerrett when the dresser hurried in, abashed that her mistress might think she had dallied.

“Something simple, Miss Skerrett. I feel like walking outdoors on this beautiful morning.”

Victoria did not go to the breakfast room, knowing she would be chided for failing to eat before the heat of the day, accepting only coffee and a piece of fruit delivered to her study. She sat at her desk and wrote one, two, three unsatisfactory drafts of a letter before settling on a brief summons, requesting Robert Peel attend her at the Palace once more. Considering, she added a line apologizing for calling him out two days in a row. Of course, when Lord M was her Prime Minister, he had attended her multiple times a day, traveling back and forth from the city until he was given his own apartment at each palace, but Robert Peel was no Lord M, and their consultation was conducted weekly, not daily. Still, she thought, a second brief visit to the palace would hardly kill the man.

She wrote a second brief note, asking Viscount Cameron to join her and her ladies on a morning walk through the gardens and handed that to a hall page to be delivered as soon as possible.

Then she began planning her third letter, unwilling to risk multiple drafts with no fires burning in the summer heat.

Victoria walked briskly in the morning sunshine beside Lord Cameron. She had initiated a conversation about his sister’s progress in the Marriage Mart as an excuse to leave her ladies behind. It was after all a bright sunny day and they were in plain sight in the gardens of Windsor, hardly a liaison. If, she thought ruefully, any gentleman would conduct such with a lady carrying the weight of a six months pregnancy  before her.

Lord C, or Billy as she sometimes called him without thinking, was at the Palace most days, as indolent as his brother was intense. While Daniel spent his time with Albert or reading in one of the libraries, Billy Cameron lolled about flirting outrageously with the ladies of Victoria’s suite or drinking in the barracks with members of the Household Cavalry when he wasn’t carousing in town or making love to one of the several married women he was rumored to entertain.

“And you, Lord Cameron? We understand you have been paying especial attention to one young lady in particular?” He looked down at her, surprised by her directness.

“Ah…then you also heard she’s an heiress, ma’am. Father’s a City man who married the relic of an Earl. My own father doesn’t have tuppence to rub together so we’d suit, me bringin’ the title, albeit an Irish one, and she the money. I’m damned expensive, you know.”

Victoria laughed, and his eyes warmed. “I’ve done my job for the day, ma’am, if my marriage prospects made you laugh.”

Victoria went quiet, thinking gratefully how comfortable he was, and how fortunate she was to have him at her side. He was such a refreshingly open man, with no pretense about him, no hidden agenda, she thought. She envied his ability to live in the moment.

“My husband makes many changes in his Household. Do any of them affect you or your brother?” She asked after a while.

“You mean that old German geck? Aye, he’s thinned the herd of fancy boys for sure but for now at least Daniel stays a favorite of His Highness. And I have no position or income for him to take away. He says it’s all to make economies but it seems more like he’s trying to run things, step into the shoes of your former advisor.”

“Former?” Victoria asked sharply. “Please explain yourself.”

“That Melbourne fellow? People say he was advisor to yourself and the Prince but now that he’s gone the old German thinks to fill that role.” Victoria forgot reticence in her outrage.

“Lord Cameron, Lord Melbourne has not left. He is on a diplomatic mission and will return. You clearly do not understand what you say or what you might have heard. And the idea that anyone, far less that old fossil Stockmar, would ever –“ Victoria bit her lip until Cameron could see the imprint of small teeth pale against her rosy flesh.

“Easy, ma’am, easy. I meant no offense. You have to know that people in a place like this do nothing but gossip. You are entirely correct that I do not know what I’m talking about.” He had stopped walking and leaned in from his greater height to meet her eyes, his own expression gentle and concerned.

“It’s for me to say I’m sorry, Lord C. Of course you couldn’t understand. Lord Melbourne is so much more than an advisor, he is our dearest friend and if I lashed out it is only because –“ Victoria was horrified to feel tears welling up and spilling out of her eyes. Cameron looked over his shoulder, and steered her to a small bench set in amongst the shrubbery.

“Darlin’,” He called back to one of the pair of ladies walking some ways behind them. “I think maybe the sun is too much for Her Majesty, and she with no bonnet. Would you be so kind as to go back and get her a parasol, and some water?” Lady Portman exchanged glances with the woman beside her and moved to go to her Queen, frowning at the man who blocked her way. “Please, ma’am. I’ll stay with the Queen until you return. She’ll be fine.” He was resolute and unmoving.

“Very well. We will return shortly.” He waited until they began walking back to the palace before returning to the Queen’s side.

 “Shall I leave you, ma’am?” He asked. Victoria shook her head, wiping her eyes vigorously. She looked up at him appealingly.

“I don’t mean to be forward, ma’am, but if you’d like to talk or – or if there’s any service I can do Your Majesty, you know you have only to ask. I think, I hope, you know you can trust me as a loyal friend.”

Victoria gazed up at her tall cavalier and then looked away, momentarily unsettled by the warmth and sincerity she saw in his eyes. She had indeed intended to call upon him for a special service, but now felt a mild qualm about asking it of him.

“Would you – would you indeed do me a service, if I asked you for one? Not a very simple thing, I’m afraid, but it is the only thing I desire in the world. You would have my gratitude.”

Cameron held her gaze for a long pulse of time, until Victoria was made almost uncomfortable by the intensity of his expression. Then he laughed and it broke the bubble of tension between them.

“Like a knight errant, I’d be? In search of chivalrous adventure? Would there be dragons to slay? A giant or a troll perhaps? I’m on board, haven’t slain a good dragon these many months.”

“Do you mean that, Lord Cameron? You will do me this service and not – not speak of it to anyone?” Victoria held out her hand impulsively. “Oh, you are a good, kind man!”

“On the condition you call me Billy, ma’am. I implore you. I’m not the man for all those “Lords” and “Ladies”. I’m just a simple soldier.” He took her hand in his and as if to belie his own words, kissed it as a lord.

***

Paris was empty of society now that the warm months of summer had settled a hazy heat over the city. Melbourne’s famed equanimity had deserted him and in company with his fellow diplomats he no longer had the patience to listen to an hour’s desultory talk before they broke for two hour luncheons, then resumed something resembling negotiation for another hour or two before ending their day with too much drinking and carousing and too little progress. Each of his fellow travelers had been in Paris long enough to have regular female companionship, whether affairs with the restless Parisian bourgeoisie, fellow ambassadors’ wives or the demimonde. Melbourne had ample opportunity for dalliance and his melancholy reticence seemed to only increase the ardor with which he was pursued. It seemed so long ago that he would have availed himself of the opportunity – shared pleasure among willing partners, after all, was one of life’s consolations – but now he had little inclination. He was no prude, nor was he insensitive to the press of pert breasts against his arm, a coyly displayed glimpse of thigh, the tip of a pink tongue lasciviously licking pursed lips. He simply wanted what he wanted, who he wanted, and anything else would be a poor substitute, hungering for a fine meal and tasting ashes instead. And oh, how he wanted his Victoria, his own sweet girl in his arms, his bed. He ached for her,  imagining her now in her sixth month of pregnancy, her beauty only enhanced, breasts heavier, hips more generous, carrying the child their lovemaking had created. He wondered, did she crave his touch as much as he did hers? She was so receptive, always so flatteringly ready to receive his attentions, physically, unmistakably ready in a way which was irresistibly arousing. She had shown such aptitude to everything he taught her, such enthusiasm for every act two people in love could share, that he thought, yes, she must lay in bed at night yearning for him as he did for her.

More than once he second-guessed his decision to come to Paris. He was surrounded by competent career diplomats, and their Russian, French and Viennese counterparts were as motivated to seek a lasting peace that would be beneficial to all their nations, so why was his presence essential? A former Prime Minister who was a close advisor to the Crown had some cachet in the early days, and ensured participation by his counterparts with similar influence empowered to make decisions on the spot. But now that all the major matters had been conceded all that remained was endless nattering on petty details which mattered only to those who lived on their government’s largesse. He wanted to go home and knew his attitude would soon color his demeanor, whether he intended it or not.

Melbourne had agreed to accompany a party traveling to the neighborhood of Versailles for a Sunday afternoon entertainment. He determined that, since he had no choice, he would make the best of it and even exerted himself to amuse the young lady his nephew had invited along. The three of them shared a carriage, since Melbourne didn’t feel up to the ride on horseback, and the young lady didn’t ride at all.

It was a hot day, even in the great park of someone’s country chateau, and Melbourne was content to lounge in the shade watching more energetic partygoers frolic on the lawns. He was accosted frequently by some lady or another thinking to bear him company. Melbourne favored each one with a lazy smile, tipped his chair back and sipped refreshingly iced champagne, listening to their prattle with benign disinterest. He knew himself to be attractive to a certain type of female who preferred to be the hunter and found disinterest an aphrodisiac. Otherwise, he thought, what appeal would a man of his years have to beautiful women surrounded by gentlemen eager to ingratiate themselves? Melbourne found himself rather enjoying the spectacle, always a student of human nature, and neither encouraged nor reproached. Why, William? he wondered. Because you’re growing old? Possibly, was the answer, but more probably, because he was for the first time not only deeply in love but aware of the fragility of such an ephemeral condition.

They returned to Paris quite late. Melbourne and the others of his party had apartments in a building maintained by the British embassy, near enough the Seine to be cooler than other parts of the city. He declined his nephew’s offer of a nightcap and headed directly for his apartment, looking forward to his valet’s ministrations and the comfort of cool sheets.

Outside of the door to his suite, Melbourne heard a voice within and smirked, thinking that perhaps his valet was entertaining a member of the fair sex. He briefly considered exercising tact and allowing his manservant a few more minutes to conclude whatever business was afoot, but the throb of a headache dissuaded him.

Within, Baines stood facing the door, addressing someone seated in the high-backed chair. Melbourne paused, then slide off his own jacket and threw it over his shoulder.

“I’ll see myself to bed, Baines. You may retire to your own rooms,” He said.

“Sir, we did not expect you to return tonight.”

Melbourne cocked an eyebrow quizzically. “But as you see, I did return. You and your visitor may retire to your own rooms or, if you are in the mood to go out, the café across the boulevard seems to be a lively spot. Good night.” Melbourne headed directly for his bedchamber, sparing the blushes of whichever female his staid valet had lured upstairs.

“Lord Melbourne, I came to see you.”

Melbourne turned around in surprise at the sound of a deep male voice.

 “Yes? How may I help you?”

“If I could speak to you alone, please, sir?” Melbourne looked to his valet and shrugged. Not much old Baines could do to repel an intruder, much less one the size of this young man, and Melbourne felt too weary – and too curious –to protest the irregularity of such a visit.

“Baines, you may retire.” The valet bowed and moved reluctantly to the door.

“He’s a good fellow. Tried to tell me to come back tomorrow and request an appointment at the embassy with your clerk but I persuaded him to let me wait. He had a nephew in my old regiment. Once we hammered that out, it was all to the good.”

“May I offer you brandy?” Melbourne poured. “Now, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? You appear to have traveled some ways to see me. Or had you other business nearby?”

“No, sir, can’t say I did. I traveled all the night, and came directly here. I’ll returning directly, as soon as our business is concluded. You see me in all the dirt of the road.”

“Indeed.” Melbourne arched an eyebrow, looked sidelong at his visitor.

“The Queen sent me, sir.” He took a letter from his pouch and handed it over.

Melbourne saw the familiar writing on the outside and his heart skipped a beat. He tore open her letter and saw a single line.

_“William, please come home now. All my love, your Victoria”_

“Is she all right? The – is her health good?” Melbourne heard his voice crack painfully.

“I’m sorry, sir, I should have said that straight off but she told me to give you her letter first. She said to assure you that they are all well, she and the little prince and the baby she carries. And she told me most firmly, sir, to say that I do not carry a command from the Queen, which is why she sent me and not the official mail.”

“Excuse my ignorance, sir, but who the Hades are you?” Melbourne cursed the buzzing tension that kept him from thinking clearly. He forced himself to breath deeply, ruffled his hair distractedly and took a long drink of brandy.

“Sorry again, sir. I realize this is all a bit irregular. I – my brother has a post in Prince Albert’s household and I’m just around, with nothing better to do than take a jaunt to Paris. I am honored by Her Majesty’s trust in me. Your Lordship may trust me also.” Melbourne was startled once more, this time by the unexpected charm of the man’s smile. He managed to look both unaccountably boyish and worldy-wise at once, with an appeal Melbourne suspected was quite irresistable to the fairer sex.

“Billy Cameron, sir. Viscount Cameron if you will. We met once, but so briefly I don’t expect you to remember me. Since then I’ve gotten to know the Queen and the little Prince. His Highness’s habits don’t suit me and it’s much more pleasant to keep company with the ladies.”

They talked until the sky began pinking in the east. Melbourne found his visitor to be quite astute and an excellent observer, recounting what he’d seen at court with candor and a certain cynical humor that appealed to Melbourne’s own. Any initial impression that this was not a well-born gentleman swiftly vanished, and Melbourne found himself certain that his jovial, unpolished demeanor was no more than camouflage. It worked well with his height and looks to conceal a sharp, analytical mind. Melbourne found himself as intrigued by the messenger as he was the things he described. That Stockmar was trouble, he had had no doubt. That Albert was unhappy enough to be receptive to his machinations surprised him. That this man was so far into Victoria’s confidence he made a lightning-quick trip to the Continent without so much as packing a bag, almost troubled Melbourne. Almost, because nothing about his visitor struck Melbourne as devious. Opportunistic perhaps, but his dedication to the Queen seemed sincere and Melbourne knew Victoria’s heart as well as his own. Still, she had hardly planned to fall in love at 18 to a politician four decades older than herself, or he with his Queen, and the heart is changeable, he knew all too well. This one would bear watching and perhaps that could best be accomplished by gaining his confidence.

Melbourne found himself rather enjoying the rapid-fire back and forth of their conversation and the brutally accurate way in which Cameron described the people involved. Only Victoria herself was spared his cant. His voice took on a tone of genuine deference when he referred to the Queen that Melbourne doubted sprang from a purely Royalist allegiance. Melbourne was quite unable to discern how much his visitor had deduced regarding the true status of the Queen’s marriage and Melbourne’s own role, and he found himself wanting, quite uncharacteristically, to tell him, to claim Victoria and the children as his own and say the words openly that no one dared speak. Melbourne shrugged off that quixotic notion.

“So you are coming? If we leave now we could be home by dusk tomorrow.”

“Home,” Melbourne thought. “Yes, to me Victoria is home.” 

He permitted himself a small smile. “You may certainly tell the Queen that I obey her…request and look forward to seeing her within a few days at most. I will inform my colleagues today of my intention and tie up any loose ends. Why? Are you instructed to carry me back by force if necessary?”

“No, Lord Melbourne. If I had been, I would certainly do so, have no doubt. I will give the Queen your assurance.” The two men took one another’s measure, seeming to acknowledge a burgeoning understanding. “And I’ll do my best to look out for her until you return. Even after, I suppose I’ll be around somewhere. If she needs me.”

“I’ll count on it, Lord Cameron.” Melbourne bowed.


	8. Chapter 8

Robert Peel had been filled with dread since receiving the Queen’s summons, asking him to return to the Palace after their earlier meeting. When he arrived she greeted him with more than usual cordiality and even, he thought, some satisfactory deference. She offered him refreshment and, rather than keeping him standing in front of her desk, offered him a seat in the small reception room adjacent her study.

A family man himself, he was nearly disarmed by the fact that despite her ungainly condition she rose to greet him, seeming to be more frail and womanly than the imposing, albeit diminutive sovereign he was accustomed to. He was struck nearly speechless by the way she apologized for inconveniencing him, and when she followed that with an earnest plea for him to advise her, he was rendered temporarily incapable of responding. Always ill at ease socially, Peel began to feel his usual political competence exert itself and even a desire to assist this little woman in any way he could.

“As you know, sir, Lord Melbourne has always been scrupulous in avoiding partiality in his role as advisor to the Crown, and no one is more supportive of your position or understanding of its challenges. He has always emphasized the necessity of my remaining impartial and not appearing to meddle in the business of Government.” She paused and sighed, giving Peel a watery hesitant little smile.

“There was some concern in the past regarding foreign influence in the affairs of our country and how my maternal relations, my mother’s and husband’s ties to other rulers abroad who might seek to take advantage of my youth and inexperience.” Peel was growing impatient, yet he couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for whatever might be so distressing his Queen and making her appear so young and uncertain.

“Oh, Lord Peel, I am afraid that in Lord Melbourne’s absence I may have allowed a situation to develop that runs contrary to all his teachings and I need you to advise me!”  She leaned forward and spontaneously reached out, laid a small hand over his own. Peel felt himself grow taller where he sat, feeling finally as the rightful Head of Government before this not-so-haughty little lady who now turned to him for his superior wisdom and experience. He was prepared to reassure her and offer any assistance he could in alleviating her concern.

“Ma’am, I doubt you could run too far afoul. Your heart is in the right place and you are young yet, with much to learn. Pray tell me what it is you fear you might have done.”

“Lord Peel, I fear it’s what I’ve not done. Perhaps it is nothing, I am not sure. And in –“ She gestured helplessly. “my current condition I do not always think unemotionally. It is for you to decide.”

The Queen explained apologetically that she feared she had inadvertently committed a faux pas in permitting a German advisor in the employ of the King of the Belgians to take up residence at the Palace. At first assuming it was only a social visit, she had recently learned something that caused her to fear perhaps she had erred in allowing herself and the Prince Consort to lean on this man unduly.

“I’m afraid as a mere female I permitted Baron Stockmar more license than is perhaps appropriate. He means no harm, I am almost certain, and certainly His Serene Highness only seeks to be more assertive in political matters. Not completely understanding the role of a constitutional monarch, or her – consort - despite Lord Melbourne’s clear instruction. You see, my husband is a great admirer of our Parliamentary system and…” She paused for breath. Peel leaned forward in his seat, now genuinely concerned about whatever it was she was building toward.

“…but when I learned he has been communicating with some of your…opposition? in Parliament, even attending private meetings with the Speaker of the House of Commons, I realized that it was time I throw myself on your mercy and beg advice. If I have been lax in my responsibilities, if I should have known better than to permit an agent of a foreign government to go too far in his desire to…be of assistance to my husband and myself, pray tell me. I rely on you entirely as the Head of my Government and can only beg your understanding.”

Peel, as jealous of his authority as any man, couldn’t bring himself to blame the poor little Queen. In a family way, with only her husband – whom Peel privately considered not much of a manly specimen – to support her, and without the guiding hand of Melbourne to steady things, no wonder the poor little thing had been taken advantage of by a ruthless political operator. Palace intrigue indeed!

He looked at her sharply when he heard her sniff, and to his dismay she seemed about to weep, so overcome by this first realization of her own limitations as a female. Peel exerted himself to assure her that he would handle this matter, nip in the bud any outreach made to Eversley and right things with any man who blamed the Queen. If she had erred, she had done so from inexperience and no ill intent. No Englishman would doubt their Queen, as much as they resented outside interference in matters of State. And the first order of business would be to send that Stockmar fellow packing, back to whatever obscure German principality he called home.

“Sir Robert, as foolish as it may sound - and I assure you I do in general regard my duty to the nation as paramount – if I were to heed your advice and ask Baron Stockmar to end his visit, it would cause…” She sniffed once more, quite affectingly, and her cheeks pinked. “Would cause domestic strife, for my husband is attached to the Baron. He has long looked to him as a teacher, a mentor, even a father figure. I…I’m afraid I might not have the fortitude to face my husband’s anger in this regard. Especially now…” She held her hand protectively over the bulge under her gown. Peel straightened his shoulders and threw out his chest, feeling more assured, even confident, in the Queen’s presence than he ever had previously.

“Ma’am, say no more. I understand. In some matters a wife can not appear to govern her husband, even if she governs a nation. I will handle your Baron Stockmar, fear not. His Serene Highness shall never know of your very proper consultation with me in this matter.” Peel stood and bowed over the Queen’s hand more deeply and reverently than ever before. The thought flashed through his mind that, were the Queen always so demure and conciliatory, they would get on very well indeed. No wonder Melbourne found her so difficult to refuse, if this were the face she showed him.

“Oh, Sir Robert! You do understand my situation. Thank you!”

“My pleasure, ma’am. I am at your service. Never fear seeking advice. My role most properly is to serve and advise you on your duty. Now I am off to tend to this matter.”

As soon as he had departed, Victoria rose and moved to her desk once more. She wiped her cheeks dry of any trace of tears – not difficult to conjure, when she thought of missing Lord M – and smiled, patting the baby she carried. “How did I do, Lord M? Am I learning?”

The weekend passed uneventfully. Victoria and Albert had a cautious reapproachment, exchanging pleasantries at meals. Albert and Daniel Cameron joined the ladies for a game of whist on Saturday night and Victoria was able to converse with Stockmar in quite amiable fashion, anticipating his imminent eviction.

On Monday morning Victoria was informed by her secretary that the Prime Minister’s private secretary was in the Palace, closeted with the Prince Consort. She received the news with a nod and a small smile that, to at least one of her companions who had the habit of watching the Queen closely, looked self-satisfied, even smug. The rest of the day passed uneventfully. There was a delegation to receive in the Throne Room, an afternoon reception with several ambassadors’ wives and an evening musicale which Victoria attended on her husband’s arm, his attendants and hers trailing in their wake. Albert exerted himself to be cordial, even attentive, staying at her side, inquiring about her health and comfort, even bringing her fruit ices. Victoria rather enjoyed the performance, finding the music more lively than the usual staid offering, and she was all smiles when she looked about the room. She anticipated one of her husband’s glowering looks and an unpleasant discussion regarding Stockmar’s abrupt departure, and was relieved that the presence of company prevented or at least delayed the inevitable.

Shortly before the music ended, as someone was suggesting a foursome to play cards, Victoria was peripherally aware of a page entering. She forced herself to remain still and not turn to the door. If he was here, she admonished herself, she would know soon enough.

On the other side of Albert, his companion Mr. Cameron stood and walked to the door. She did turn then, to follow his progress, and caught just a glimpse of a rather taller figure waiting outside in the dimly lit corridor.

Cameron returned in moments and took his place beside Albert, who looked at him questioningly. Whatever he murmured seemed to satisfy the Prince, who turned a beaming, infatuated smile on his favorite and leaned to whisper something in return. Over her husband’s shoulder Victoria saw Cameron nod briefly to her and she inclined her head in return.

“I believe I will retire. Please do not end your evening on my account,” Victoria said shortly after thanking the performers and inviting them to partake of refreshment. “I tire readily now.” She swept out of the room, only slightly discomposed to see her Mistress of the Robes follow.

“Emma, you need  not accompany me,” She told the woman. “Miss Skerrett will be waiting. I find I would like some time alone to write in my journal.”

“Very well, Your Majesty. I will walk with you and then retire likewise. I am quite exhausted myself after hosting Portman’s relations all weekend. So pleasant to return to the Palace where my duties are not nearly so arduous.” Emma Portman walked beside her down the hallway.

At the first turn, in a poorly lit passage, both women saw the tall figure simultaneously. Neither seemed surprised; Emma Portman’s eyes flickered to the Queen, as if having her suspicions confirmed.

“Your Majesty. Ma’am.” Billy Cameron sketched a shallow bow. “I did not want to intrude on your evening, ma’am. As you see I’m hardly fit to enter the Palace in all my dirt.”

His billowing once-white shirt was untucked and half unbuttoned, showing a tanned muscular chest. His sleeves were carelessly rolled up over his forearms, and his breeches and boots were grimed with mud and dust.

“Indeed, sir, you are hardly fit to enter the stables,” Emma Portman replied smoothly. “Yet here you are.”

He grinned at her and touched a forelock of long brown hair in mock salute.

“Nonetheless here I am. Only to tell Your Majesty that I have returned, having completed my business satisfactorily. And now I’ll be off to my own apartment for a bath. I wish you both a good night.”

“Wait! Is – was your business indeed satisfactory? You – accomplished everything you set out to do?” Victoria asked urgently. Lady Portman only raised an eyebrow and looked from her Queen to this…gentleman.

“Yes, ma’am. Quite satisfactory, I believe. I should be certain in a very few days, but I think I can say…yes. Everything I set out to do.” He bowed to each of them in turn.

Victoria looked, Emma thought, as though she wanted to follow him. Instead she turned in the direction of her own apartments and Emma followed.

“Don’t look so disapproving, Emma. He did me a great service and I consider myself fortunate to have him at hand.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. May I ask, was his business really in service to you? Or do I overstep myself? I consider myself your friend in everything, ma’am. That is why I concern myself.”

Victoria stopped and looked both ways to be sure they were quite alone, no hall pages or servants in sight.

“You are my friend, Emma. Our friend. Lord Cameron is back from France. If I’m not mistaken he has ridden non-stop, except for the time he was crossing the Channel, in order to return so soon. He certainly looks it.” Victoria laughed softly.

“France, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Emma. I’ve asked William to come home.”

“I see. But surely he can’t just leave, without Peel releasing him from his commission? He is there on Government business, after all.”

“I expect that is why he didn’t return immediately, with Lord Cameron. I had hoped, but – I am sure he will know how best to terminate his service satisfactorily. Peel himself has told me all substantive talks have been concluded for weeks now, and all that remains are details.”

“The devil is often in the details, or so my husband says in regard to the Colonies. Still, if William can indeed secure his release from duty, I think it will be a very good thing if he comes home soon. This has been very hard on you, being separated from him, has it not, ma’am?”

“Yes, Emma. Much more difficult than I even anticipated. I think – I hope – that he has now served his country and his Government quite satisfactorily in his long career. We need him here. I need him here. And it’s not like he’s otherwise idle. He still spends most days in the city and when not there, he sees everyone who wants his advice here. He votes from the bench, he helps write bills. He is not like…like my husband’s _companions_ , merely living on a sinecure and serving no useful purpose.”

Emma Portman smiled at the Queen’s heated explanation.

“Of course, ma’am. Palmerston consults William often, and I can’t count the number of new MPs who consider him their mentor. And his continuing guidance to you and His Serene Highness in all manner of law and government is no small thing.  Everyone knows him to be above partisan or personal interest.”

Lady Portman laid her hand on the Queen’s arm, in violation of protocol but with the warmth of a friend.

“And of course his absolute loyalty to the Crown, ma’am, is no small service. I think not many sovereigns have been so well loved and served by a subject as you are by Lord Melbourne.”

And so it was on an evening later that week, Lady Portman – as his oldest and dearest of friends – to whom Melbourne first announced his return. He anticipated the Queen might find it difficult to maintain decorum and so he did not have himself announced in her drawing room. Truth be told, he thought to himself, he was not sure of his own ability to maintain decorum in front of an assembly, seeing his Queen and the growth of the child they made for the first time in months. Instead he scrawled a note to Lady Portman and found a page to deliver it.

_“Emma, I have returned. You understand why it is not perhaps wise to surprise her in company. When you can discreetly do so, please accompany her back to my apartments. You will do us a great service if you can ensure we are not disturbed for the rest of the night. I trust your ingenuity, as I do your discretion. – WL”_

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Victoria felt herself begin to tremble with anticipation long before they reached their destination.

“Wait! Emma, how...round do I look? Will he find me unappealing now that I really do resemble a dumpling, as in those awful lampoons?” 

“William will find you radiant, ma’am, as any man would. Now come.”

Lady Portman stepped forward and tapped softly on the door. He had been waiting; the door opened at once.

“Thank you, Emma.” Melbourne leaned forward to kiss Lady Portman’s cheek and squeeze her hands. Unwilling to meet his eyes, she looked at their clasped hands before pulling away.

“Your Majesty,” She curtsied to the Queen. Melbourne watched his friend walk away, then drew the Queen inside and closed and locked the door.

“Victoria!” He whispered hoarsely, voice cracking.

She looked at him in silent wonder, at his thick hair still damp from the bath, the beautiful planes of his noble face, ravishing green eyes so warm and heavy-lidded with emotion.

“William!” She breathed his name like a prayer. “Do I look much changed?” Victoria asked shyly, indicating the girth that swallowed her small frame.

“Only for the better, ma’am.” He smiled and it lit up his whole face, Victoria thought, such a smile that he saved only for her.

“You must excuse me, ma’am. I am not dressed for the drawing room so I asked Emma to bring you here.” Victoria looked at his dressing gown, at the wedge of bare skin exposed at his neck.

“You look wonderful, William. I think I prefer you this way.” 

“More than the Windsor uniform, ma’am? I may set a new fashion.”

Melbourne enveloped her in his arms and kissed her. For a long while they stood thus, lips pressed hungrily together, sharing one breath. When he drew back it was to rest his forehead on hers. “Will you stay the night with me?” He asked. Victoria nodded wordlessly and he led her into his bedchamber with such reverence it felt like ritual.

He helped her undress, carefully unfastening the long column of hooks on the back of her dress, assisting her to step out of her petticoat. When he reached her shift, Victoria stayed his hand, her eyes shy and uncertain. Melbourne saw the question in her eyes.

“I look like a dumpling, so short and round. I hate being pregnant. I want to be as beautiful for you, as you are for me,” Victoria said plaintively, her arm crossed in a failed attempt to hide the rounded bulge of her abdomen. Melbourne wanted to laugh but knew he must not.

“Oh, Victoria! You are so very beautiful to me and seeing the child I put in you only enhances it. Please? Let me see all of you? I have waited and dreamed of being able to do so again.” He held her gaze so she could clearly read his emotions and slipped off the remaining garment.

Victoria blushed, unsure of herself, until she saw his immediate physical response, unmistakable, his arousal pushing against the fabric of his dressing gown. “You see?” He said. “You are beautiful, exquisite...and most desirable.”

He kissed, stroked, caressed every inch of her, insistent on leaving a candle burning so he could see her and she, him. His lovemaking was deliciously slow and tender until it wasn’t, until he could no longer restrain himself and his need became urgent and demanding. Victoria found the selfish intensity which overtook him as he neared his peak thrilling and it pushed her over the edge into oblivion.

Afterward they held each other, content to murmur of nothing in the nonsense language of lovers. Victoria marveled at the man she beheld in private, so different than the public face he wore. Lord Melbourne he was to the world, devastatingly handsome, his chiseled features a pleasant mask, polished, debonair. To the Queen, his remote expressions were enlivened by a small secret smile he saved for her, a twitching of the corner of his mouth when he was amused, his eyes always the only real tell, their expression so tender, proud, profoundly touched when they rested on Victoria. But in private, he came alive, his wonderful face mobile, animated, laughing, as carefree and playful as a boy. Victoria adored everything about him but it was the private face of William only she was privileged to see, incandescent, radiant with joie de vivre, that she treasured most of all. She drifted off to sleep content in his arms.

Eventually the sky began to lighten and Melbourne knew that as little as he wanted to, he had to awaken the Queen so she could return to her own apartments. He looked at her, curled up against him with one hand tucked under her cheek, the other laid across his chest. Her dark hair spread out on the pillow and he chose one strand, wound it around his finger, kissed the shiny brown curl. His heart swelled with love and wonder, at this miracle. That this splendid girl, so young, so ravishingly pretty and full of life, could love him as she did, was grace he didn’t dare examine closely. She had given him so many reasons for living, the privilege of another chance at fatherhood, a young son, an infant – dare he think, daughter? – on the way. Had she been a serving girl, a tenant farmer’s daughter, he would have been content to worship her until the day he died. But that this enchanting young woman was Queen of the greatest nation on earth, that he had had the privilege of a lifetime in helping shape her as a monarch, humbled him to the verge of dropping to his knees in prayer.

“Darling..we must get you back now…” Melbourne crooned in her ear. She made a soft mewling sound of protest and burrowed her face against his side.

“Noooo…” She moaned, as he laughed softly and nuzzled the soft baby fine hairs at the back of her neck.

Victoria sighed deeply and pushed herself up enough to look at him through bleary eyes. “Why can’t I have the same privacy as any maid in the palace?” She mumbled. 

“Because you are the Queen, of course. I will wait until you rouse yourself but do not go back to sleep.”

Melbourne threw back the covers and stood. Victoria looked at him standing naked at bedside and began smiling lasciviously. 

“I believe, Lord M, that not all of you is ready to leave this bed,” She teased, reaching for his erect manhood.

He threw back his head and groaned softly as her hand folded around him. “Now? Ma’am, I….” When her lips slid around him he shifted as if to move away, but his hands, of their own volition, wrapped around her head.

***

Miss Skerrett had smiled to herself, humming, as she directed a bevy of serving girls to fill the Queen’s bath. She added scented oil herself, trusting no one else to ready the bath just as her mistress liked it, and held a sheet in place as Victoria slid into the warm silky water.

“And what has Your Majesty planned this day? Do we need to be formal?” She asked brightly, sudsing the Queen’s long brown hair.

“Oh I think ‘formal’ is no longer something I can achieve, at least unless we let out every seam on every Court dress I have and ruin them for later. Just choose something pretty and summery, please.”

“You have the new lavender frock, ma’am. I believe you said once Lord Melbourne especially favors that color on you.” Miss Skerrett looked down, smiling.

“Mmmmm….yes. No jewels. I want to feel like an ordinary woman today.”

The Queen was first to reach the breakfast room. A bright sun was streaming in and she took her coffee to the window to look out over the lawns, still wet with dew. Everything looked so fresh and new and wonderful, she thought.

“You’re up early, ma’am,” Lady Portman said, entering with one of the youngest ladies in waiting.

“It’s such a beautiful day, I didn’t want to miss a minute of it. I feel quite wonderful this morning!” Victoria spun about, smiling and moving as though to music only she could hear. 

Emma Portman’s lips moved in a small, tight smile. “I am happy to hear it, ma’am.” She sighed softly and then her expression brightened. “Truly I am, ma’am. Don’t mind me being a grouch. It’s part of my disposition, being sour and cynical, and I am loathe to ruin my reputation with an excess of civility.”

Victoria laughed and hooked her arm through the older woman’s. “I like you just as you are, dear Emma. Pray don’t alter your disposition on my account. May I pour for you?”

The two women were treated to the Queen of England performing hostess duties, deftly pouring coffee into two delicate china cups, arranging biscuits on a plate and setting out dishes on the breakfast table.

“Good morning, ladies. Ma’am.” Both Cameron brothers entered, followed closely by Prince Albert. The elder, Viscount Cameron, bowed over Victoria’s hand.

“So formal, Lord Cameron?” Victoria teased, but held out her hand to be kissed. “I am unused to chivalry at breakfast. Good morning, Albert.”

“Good morning, Victoria.” Albert greeted his wife.

“Have you heard the news?” Victoria asked cheerfully. 

The Prince looked up sharply. “Do you mean that Baron Stockmar has returned to Belgium? Yes, of course. I thought to tell you.”

“Oh, Baron Stockmar. How sudden! He did not take his leave of me. I fear we barely had conversation during his stay. He kept himself quite occupied in your wing of the Palace. But no, that is not the news I meant.” Victoria paused. “Lord Melbourne has returned.”

Prince Albert didn’t look up from the dish of eggs from which he was serving himself. “Melbourne returned? I had not heard. How did you learn of this?”

“Lady Portman told me earlier.” Victoria beamed at her.

“Yes, Your Highness. William arrived quite late and did not wish to disturb anyone so he sent a note to me asking me to inform the Queen.”

“Have you seen him yet this morning?” Albert asked.

“He has not yet come down for breakfast. I expect he must be tired from his journey.”

“Ah yes, his journey. I expect that was quite tiring indeed. How unfortunate that he had to arrive too late for a proper welcome.” Victoria heard the note of dry sarcasm in her husband’s voice and was amused. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty!” Melbourne strode in and bowed over Victoria’s hand with his usual elegant grace. “Good morning, Your Highness. As you see, I have returned from the diplomatic wars. England has never looked so good.”

He looked around him at the assemblage. “New faces, I see. Will someone do the honors or must I assign names?” Victoria recognized his assumption of that most disarming of public personas, the warm charm of manner that had won over every ideological opponent throughout a long career. With an effort she tore her eyes away, aware that she could so easily lose herself in watching only him no matter how crowded a room. When Lord M was in view, she noticed no one else. As Albert introduced the two brothers to Melbourne Victoria tore her gaze from him and looked about the room. When her gaze fell on Billy Cameron he nodded infinitesimally and she thought she saw him actually wink. Victoria felt a twinge of something like embarrassment, as though she had kept something secret he had a right to know, which of course was nonsense. No one knew, at least no one other than the three of them, she, Albert and Lord M. Others might suspect, even assume, but none knew. Why, then, she wondered, would I think him entitled to know? How silly! He was almost smirking and Victoria felt a sudden urge to slap him for the lewd understanding she fancied she saw in his expression.

When she looked back at Lord M, she saw him conversing quietly with Albert at the far end of the breakfast room. They looked in accord, with no sign of the strain or unpleasantness which had recently colored her interactions with her husband. Albert at one point laughed aloud, and smiled often during their discussion. Lord M wore his most charming smile, with real warmth shining through.

“Victoria, I am riding into the city with Lord Melbourne for the day. They are raising the east wall on the new House of Lords today and I would like to see that.” Victoria glanced up at her husband, trying to hide any surprise she might feel.

“You have a lovely day to ride out, Albert. I quite envy you. I miss riding!” She gave him her brightest smile.

“We shall return to dine. Perhaps al fresco if the weather stays this perfect? Would that please you, Victoria?” Her smile became softer and more genuine at the placating tone in her husband’s voice. 

“What a fine idea, Albert. I shall relay that to the kitchens.”

Baroness Lehzen came in holding Prince Liam by the hand. When he saw Melbourne he threw himself at his legs, raising his arms to be lifted. 

“Your Highness!” The Baroness chided him tenderly. “Is that how we greet someone in company?”

Melbourne picked up his son and held him close, pressing his cheek against the boy’s soft curls. Victoria was, perhaps, the only person to notice Lord M’s eyes filling with tears he discreetly wiped with the back of one hand.

“Yes, yes, I am home but I am leaving again with Prince Albert. I shall return tonight and then you may maul me to your heart’s content.” The little boy tightened his arms around Melbourne’s neck and shook his head vigorously, refusing to be set down. 

“Liam, come to Mother now.” Victoria rose and went to take the boy, who turned his face and refused to let go.

“Your Highness!” Baroness Lehzen scolded, clucking, embarrassment overtaking her. The boy shook his head vehemently, clutching even tighter.

“Liam, we are going to feed the ducks this morning and I might dunk Danny in the pond. Would you like to help me? If his pretty yellow hair gets wet he will cry. He’s such a baby that way.” Viscount Cameron pushed himself away from the wall and cuffed his brother, then got him in a headlock that made the little prince look up from his father’s shoulder and crow with laughter.

“What do you say? Come with us?” He looked to Melbourne. “I can take him from you, sir. Liam and I are old friends.” Melbourne felt the little arms release their grip and his son pitched forward into Cameron’s waiting hands.

Melbourne tightened his lips in a strained smile. He reached out a hand and stroked the boy’s soft brown curls.

“Tonight then,” He said and left with Prince Albert.

***

Melbourne and the Prince did not return until the sun was low in the sky. The Queen and Lehzen sat outside in the cool of early evening. Victoria had dismissed her ladies in waiting, and slipped off her shoes to enjoy the feel of the grass as Liam played with the dog nearby. 

Melbourne took the child up and carried him to a chair near the Queen, shrugging off his coat and loosening his cravat.

Albert called for wine and sat across from them, seeming to Victoria to be energized and quite cheerful. Throughout dinner he regaled them with details of the means by which the great outer supports had been levered into position on the new Parliament building, the next stage of construction and the steam engine that powered the apparatus used to swing roof spans into place. 

He and Melbourne had taken luncheon with several members of the Royal Society of the Arts to which Albert belonged, and Melbourne had regaled them with details of a great exhibition being planned in Paris for the next year, Exposition des produits de l'industrie française. It was to be the tenth in a series of eleven French national industrial expositions held to encourage improvements in progressive agriculture and in technology. Albert was quite excited by the concept and determined to visit the exhibition on the Champs-Élysées. 

“Three thousand exhibitors, Victoria! Why have we not done something similar? What stops us? Certainly England has as much to boast of as France?” Albert demanded, his eyes shining with excitement.

“Why indeed? Because, I surmise, no one has suggested it, or has the wherewithal to plan such a monumental undertaking,” Melbourne responded. “Think of the many moving parts such an event would require, the space, the design, finding and coordinating the attractions. Why, I am quite exhausted just thinking of it. Such a massive project would take an exceptional man at the head.”

“We would have to see what the French do, Victoria. Not to copy them but to surpass them in every way. Would you like that? To travel to Paris next year? The new baby will be old enough to be left by then, and you always say you would like to see something of the world. Paris, the Louvre, the Tuileries Gardens, Versailles, and of course their Industrial Exposition.”

“Oh yes! I would love to see Paris. If, of course, such a thing is permissible. It would have to be a State visit, if I am to go. Unless you would prefer to visit the exhibition incognito?”

“We could do both. You could go on a State visit and I could spend days just at the exhibition. Oh, let’s do it, Victoria. And then…perhaps…we could host our own exhibition someday. Think of it!”

Melbourne half-listened, nodding off as his little son slept. 

“Should I take Prince Liam to bed, Your Majesty?” Lehzen asked softly.

“Not yet, Lehzen. They look so peaceful.” Victoria smiled at her son and his father.

“Where is Daniel?” Albert asked suddenly, looking around.

“They left much earlier, I think. I’m not really sure.” Albert shrugged, seemingly unconcerned that for one night at least, neither of them had any attendants. 

When they retired for the evening Victoria went to her apartment, bidding Albert an amiable good night. Melbourne carried their child to the nursery with Lehzen at his side. Victoria was in bed, writing in her journal, when he joined her.

“Liam awakened as Lehzen was putting him to bed so I sat with him until he fell back asleep. I used to do that with Augustus. He feared the dark and would wake every time I tried to slip out. Our boy fears nothing, it seems.” He laid his coat over the back of a chair and took off his cravat.

“Are you tired, ma’am? Should I say good night?”

“No! At least, yes I am sleepy but no, I do not wish to sleep alone. I may not fear the dark but I most definitely will protest if you try to slip out.”

In his arms, Victoria idly traced patterns on his chest with her fingertips. “Albert seemed to have a very good day with you. He seemed more generally pleased than I have seen him in some time.”

“I hope so. He’s a bright young man. Some might be content to live in a palace and seek nothing but pleasure, but he needs occupation. I think it might be useful if some were found for him. He has much to offer and his position precludes anything from offering itself so perhaps I can assist. It would be good for him.”

“He seems quite excited about the prospect of traveling to Paris for that exhibition you told him about.”

“Yes, he does. I thought when I first heard of it, it might be something that would engage his attention.”

Victoria loved when he stroked her hair, combing it with his fingers, toying with the ends, but its effect was soporific. She felt herself slipping into sleep and struggled to stay awake. They had been too long apart to waste a single moment of intimacy, she thought.

“Sleep, my love. We will have many more nights together.” He blew out the bedside candle and kept his arm around her as she pillowed herself on his shoulder.

“William,” She murmured later. 

“Hmmm?”

“Peel mentioned a Regency again. Before my confinement he would like something set down.” Melbourne tightened his arm around her and frowned in the dark. Of course, he understand the practicality of such a thing and in Peel’s place would have done the same, but its implication – that the Queen might not survive the birth of their child – squeezed his heart painfully.

“A reasonable request, I suppose,” He sighed. “Have you any thoughts? Albert, of course, but perhaps your mother or your cousin George?” Victoria giggled. “No, really. They might prefer an Englishman in tandem with His Serene Highness. Norfolk? His is one of the oldest families, but he’s Catholic. Buckingham? Sutherland?”

“If we have an Englishman there’s only one obvious choice. Not presently a Duke, but that can be remedied and is long overdue.” Victoria propped herself on one elbow and looked at him meaningfully. 

“Is it so surprising I don’t care for a Dukedom, ma’am? I refused your uncle and I continue to refuse you. I am not insensitive to the honor but what good would it do me? My son could not inherit and I’m quite happy as I am. Conferring such an honor on me would merely put the fox back in the henhouse, everyone quacking away about preferment.” Melbourne stroked her cheek with a finger. 

“So…Albert as sole regent? With you on hand to advise him, of course. But…if something should happen to me, “Regent” is a public role. You must raise our children. And that must be covered in any document I sign. It is not negotiable. You are their father and that right is paramount.”

“As you will, Madame. I will consult with Campbell. He was my Solicitor General and has a keen mind for such things. Perhaps a physical guardianship order…?” Melbourne mused, mulling the issue over. Then as he recollected the crux of the issue, he shivered. “All this is purely academic, ma’am. Nothing will happen to you. You are young and healthy. And if…if I ever lost you, I doubt I’d be much good to our children. Such a thing would break me.”

“Nothing bad will happen, Lord M. But if it did…you would carry on and teach our little William all the wonderful things you know, teach him to be a great King as you taught me to be Queen.” Victoria rose and swung her leg across so she sat on his lap facing him. “Now kiss me please, Lord M, and let us pretend this lump isn’t between us.”


	10. Chapter 10

**August 1843**

**Melbourne**

When he looked back on the summer after his return from France, Melbourne would see it in an idyllic haze. What little time Melbourne spent attending to political duties, he spent in the Palace. When Peel or one of his colleagues – Russell, Palmerston, even Brougham – wanted to see him, they knew where to find him. By mid-summer, that was Windsor with its extensive wooded paths, gardens and ponds. Parliament hadn’t adjourned until the end of July, and he didn’t envy Peel the contentiousness he faced as Premier. Neither Upper nor Lower House was any better organized than when he had held office and Peel, once so critical of Melbourne and what had been labeled lack of direction, now complained bitterly to his predecessor of the turbulence he was unable to control. Peel had thought the safest method of evading his difficulty with Ireland was to restrict himself to the merely negative policy of doing nothing there but govern that part of the country with irreproachable impartiality, much the same strategy for which Melbourne had been maligned. But Ireland had become not only chronically but acutely disordered, and remedies for its condition could no longer be postponed. Had Melbourne been of a vindictive nature, the spectacle of one of his harshest former critics now facing the same unpalatable lesser-of-evils choices might have proved satisfying. All Melbourne could do was provide a listening ear and seek to bridge the divides man to man. John Russell was ever a firebrand, and if Melbourne could persuade him temper his most inflammatory – not to mention long-winded – speeches, he considered it a service rendered.

Uncharacteristically for him, Melbourne spent most of his time lazing about, at Victoria’s side almost constantly, sharing long meandering quite wonderful conversations, strolling through the gardens with her small hand tucked in his arm, playing with his little son as she went through the dispatch boxes, reading to the boy until he slept each night and then joining his Queen in her bed. The happiness of those times was sometimes overshadowed by reminders of his own mortality, of the vast age difference that separated them, that would separate him from the little boy who loved him so fiercely far too soon. Had it been fair to give in to her, to this young vital woman who would later if not sooner be left to mourn or – worse – to watch his decline as the ravages of age crept up and over took him? The pain of those thoughts stabbed like a knife so he pushed them away and focused only on the God-given gift of _now_.

As the summer progressed Victoria’s customary high energy deserted her and they would venture out only in the cool of early evening. As the shadows lengthened, Melbourne recalled most clearly the vivid, almost supernatural intensity of the light, the air crystalline and every color sharper, purer, as if they had stepped out of the ordinary world into some numinous dimension. As the sun sank out of sight a hush would descend and the stillness would suddenly be so profound it felt like a portent.

**The Camerons**

Billy Cameron would remember the summer of 1843 as a series of cold, dreary days in exile. Shortly after the Queen’s household saw the return of Lord Melbourne, Billy Cameron determined it was time he left London for a time. Too many debtors were circling about, too many broken promises – both express and implied – to too many young ladies were becoming difficult to reconcile. If there was another more insistent reason he wanted to escape the stifling environs of the Palace he didn’t allow himself to think of it. Daniel was growing restive, with no patience for playing the Consort’s favorite. He was comfortable in his own skin, with his own sexual preferences, and was a man’s man, hardened by ten years in the Army. Daniel despised the trappings of the _macarroni_ , those girly men whose dress and manners were more archly feminine than a French courtesan. He originally assumed the prince was merely titillated by rough trade, but instead he grew openly infatuated with Daniel. The rougher he was, the more contempt he showed in his cool gray eyes, the more Albert clung to him. When he told the prince he required leave to attend to family business in Ireland, Albert showed him the limpid wet eyes of a spaniel. Daniel exerted every ounce of will he had not to curl his lip in disgust before he turned on his heel and walked out.

Neither Cameron brother had seen the home place in nearly ten years, since they departed for the Army, and both were aghast at the damp crumbling ruin of a castle that greeted them. Their father the Earl of Clancarton more closely resembled the village drunk than a nobleman, shambling about in stained undershirt and several days’ growth of grey beard. He kept a bevy of slatterns imported from the slums of Dublin and their bastards roamed the place at will. Riding about the ruined countryside was no better. The inhabitants of tumbledown shacks stood in their doors and glared, until Billy felt as though he were traveling through a haunted landscape.

It didn’t take him long to regret his impulse to flee their London life. A decade of Army service that saw some of the fiercest fighting in the East – India was bad but the Afghan tribesmen incomparably worse – left neither brother with any taste for privation and here there was no mission to accomplish, nothing to be done, only misery and a grinding poverty of body and spirit that dragged a man down. For Daniel, in London there was a well-compensated sinecure waiting that demanded little enough in return – the Prince wasn’t a difficult taskmaster certainly, and his only expectations were easily met. There was the respect accorded anyone wearing Royal livery and free time to explore the vast Palace libraries. Any idle hope he may have had that there was anything to salvage from their ancestral holdings was quickly dashed by a look at the accounts. For Billy, back in London there was a sweetly plump little Marquise ripe for the picking, a Spanish actress too expensive to keep but liberal with her favors as long as he was willing to share with the Duke who kept her. There was the delectable Lady Jocelyn, the Queen’s Lady in Waiting, who played the proper lady but flushed becomingly and giggled when he flirted. And there was the Queen.

Billy Cameron initially harbored some vague hope that if the Queen’s husband found his pleasures elsewhere, the Queen might as well. He was certain by then that her husband was such in name only, and his first thought was, _if someone else got there, why not I ?_ Instead he found himself wanting her to _see_ him. He wanted to impress, amuse, please, he wanted to serve her like the damned courtier he wasn’t. The first morning Melbourne had returned and he saw how the man’s presence affected her, he realized that of the many women he’d bedded to their mutual satisfaction over the years, not one had ever looked at him the way the Queen looked at her former Prime Minister, as if he was the fixed star in her universe. That and the natural mantle of dignity which enveloped her dashed any lewd thought, replacing it with a desire to play the role of a chaste knight, content to serve and worship from afar, while he took his pleasure where he found it, willing women in no short supply.

By the end of July both brothers agreed, it was time to go _home_.

**Victoria**

The Queen despised everything about pregnancy. She hated the way her body felt, hated the great bulging stomach that threw her off balance, hated that she felt unwieldy and unattractive and no longer custodian of her own body. By August Victoria wanted nothing more than to be rid of this child, have it safely ensconced in the nursery. She would love it, she thought, of course she would. But as her son was for England, this baby was for William. As long as she had him she had everything.

As miserable as she was physically, Victoria had never been happier, more centered, more at peace than she was that summer of 1843, when she had glorious hours, days, weeks to spend with William. They were able to get away to Brocket Hall unremarked and unaccompanied on several long weekends. For Victoria that was heaven. Brocket Hall, so much a part of Melbourne, felt more like home than any of her palaces. At the Hall they could live like an ordinary couple. She had long had her own room there, a lovely sun-drenched space overlooking Well Lawn and the woods beyond. But it was his bedroom, masculine, always messy and full of his interests, books, papers, so many paintings some remained on the floor propped in out of the way corners, the very air holding the essence of the man she adored, that was Victoria’s true refuge. A sacred space that would forever after, long into the future, hold some trace of the happiness they’d shared there.

Victoria liked to imagine a time hundreds of years hence, when poets and playwrights would tell the story of the great love between Britain’s Queen Victoria and her Prime Minister Melbourne, as they did other famous lovers in history. Melbourne had read to her the story of Philemon and Baucis, not the most famous in Greek mythology but charming all the same. They loved each other so much the gods granted their wish to die at the same moment, and were transformed into trees, Philemon the oak and Baucis the lime; their boughs were entertwined, symbolizing their everlasting love. Perhaps, she mused, someday far in the future when her many-times-great-grandchild reigned, people would travel from afar to walk through the rooms of Brocket Hall, as she had once gone to see the resting place of King Edward III and his beloved Queen, and they would pay homage to the memory of Lord Melbourne and the Queen who loved him.

By the early days of August Victoria could travel no distance. Carriage rides through the park at a sedate pace were all she could manage without discomfort in her privy parts from the child’s head bearing down. Even the short pleasant walk to church and back was now denied her, and a team must be harnessed, coachmen in full livery and members of her Household Cavalry assembled each Sunday morning. William of course stayed behind, still abed with newspapers scattered about him, unshaven in his dressing gown, drinking coffee and watching as she was dressed. Miss Skerrett shyly kept her eyes averted as she fastened her mistress’s light summer frock.

“I like that lavender shade on you, ma’am. You look as fresh and pretty as a blossom,” Melbourne said with a joyous lilt in his voice.

Victoria scrutinized her own reflection. The snowy white lace collar finished her high-waisted gown nicely, its soft fabric falling in pleats over her bulging stomach, just the color of lilacs in spring. As she looked down she smiled, liking how pretty the immaculate silk made her feel. As if sharing her thoughts, William approached and as Skerrett moved away, gently embraced her from behind, laying his hands over hers, feeling movement under her gown.

“Stay,” He murmured. “I think the Queen can miss one Sunday’s services.”

Victoria sighed, liking the feel of his breath in her neck, his strong arms around her so protectively. “If only I could! But I am the Head of the Church. What example would I set? And all the people come out to see us go by, you know. Some Sundays the road is so lined with people the carriage can barely pass.”

“It’s true, ma’am, sir. Where I come from, it’s a regular Sunday outing to come to the country and see the Queen.” Skerrett said softly.

“You see, William? I would disappoint God and the people.” She turned in his arms and lifted her face up for a kiss.

Melbourne would remember looking down at her bright upturned face and wanting to implore her to stay with him, to come back to bed, to not leave the shelter of his arms. But did he, or was that a memory created later, as the mind was wont to to? He would never be sure.

**Lady Portman**

The small church nearest the Palace was filled with sunshine and looked so pretty, Lady Emma Portman thought, slipping into her place beside the Queen. The little prince and his governess sat on the Queen’s other side and Lady Jocelyn, fifth member of the Royal party, sat nearest the aisle. It was such a beautiful day, the air just warm enough and with none of the humidity that had made the prior days such a challenge to the poor little Queen, heavy as she was with child.

Emma looked about her, at their fellow parishioners – Palace servants, their families if such lived nearby, a sprinkling of tenants and shopkeepers from Windsor village. Outside, through the open windows, she could hear the cheerful voices of the crowd assembled to watch the Queen pass by. Emma was never overly fond of the cheering crowds who pressed so close to the carriage when they drove out; she disliked the proximity of so many doubtfully hygienic hands grasping for the Queen, pressing their poor offerings of flowers, food, small tokens into her hands, wanting to touch her if they could, to have that moment when she would meet their eyes, perhaps say a word of thanks, and they could live on the story of their proximity to the God-ordained Queen. Emma knew herself for a grump and smiled a little, thinking how hard she worked to maintain that reputation, but she took her duty very seriously. Having served Victoria for four years, since her ascension, Emma had a tenderness for the little Queen, but it was for William that she devoted herself to serving and protecting the keeper of his heart. Emma’s love for William Lamb was of such long duration it was habit to think of his well-being before anything else. She had long since resigned herself to the role of friend and confidant – since those days when he was so besotted with Caro no one else might exist – but sometimes, when she saw how completely he had given his heart to this one, it still hurt. More than hurt, it frightened her, contemplating how utterly vulnerable he had made himself in loving a woman who could never truly be his in the eyes of the world. And yet…he was so happy and his happiness spilled over onto his oldest friend. If she could keep his heart intact, she could keep a small part for herself.

Seeing the people rising all about her, Emma shook her head slightly to clear it of the musings which had distracted her throughout the service. She stepped into the aisle and stood aside for the Queen to pass.

The Queen’s equerry handed each lady into the open carriage, first Lehzen in the forward-facing seat, then the child, and the Queen nearest the side of the road so people could see her unimpeded. Lady Jocelyn stepped into the rear-facing seat and Emma sat across from her Queen, prepared to take whatever offerings were thrust upon the Queen.

The little Prince was all smiles when he saw the mounted Household Cavalry behind them. He was enthralled by their big horses, their red jackets and tall hats, but mostly by their weapons. Like most little boys, he was mad for the guns they fired at review, had even on one occasion been taken to the barracks by the big man who sometimes kept him company, where he saw the soldiers cleaning their guns.

Emma was no lover of children but William’s little boy so resembled his father, it could have been this child in the Reynolds painting hanging at Melbourne Hall. His soft brown hair curled over the collar of his little linen suit and Emma impulsively leaned forward to brush a lock from his face. She was rewarded with a smile of such cherubic sweetness she felt quite uncharacteristically moved.

The procession moved more slowly than a person could walk. Emma was irritated by the pace and the soldiers’ seeming inability to clear the way, her nerves jangled by the press of people on both sides of the carriage. Of course the Queen wanted no subject manhandled for showing an excess of enthusiasm but really, they would soon come to a dead stop. She no more had that thought than they did in fact come to a halt. Someone said there was a fun fair up ahead adding to the congestion. Others jostled for position, shoving each other nearly into the carriage. Grimy hands thrust up spindly flowers wrapped in kerchiefs so foul Emma intercepted them before the Queen could touch. Across from her, Lehzen was busy preventing the prince from reaching out to take the offerings. Dirty hands reached to touch him and Lehzen shielded his person as best she could. Lord Alfred, the equerry, came close and Emma hissed at him, “This is quite unacceptable. Please move them back!” He shrugged helplessly but turned his mount to block access to the far side of the carriage. Facing the rear, Emma suddenly noticed, riding behind the soldiers, the Queen’s Irish cavalier, the big handsome ex-soldier who had been hanging about the Court for so many months. He had been gone for the summer but now it seemed he was returned. She was aware of brief annoyance – she quite disliked, on William’s behalf, the special attention this half-civilized brute paid his Queen – before wishing suddenly that he could turn his size and strength to their advantage and get the Queen out of the crush.

The next thing Emma noticed was to be the last clear recollection she had, a figure taller than the women and children around him reaching toward the carriage, into the carriage, and the little prince excitedly leaning across his mother toward something that caught his fancy. After that it was only chaos, jumbled impressions, sight, sound, smell, _oh my God the smell_. Her last conscious thought was that she had failed him, failed William, the only man she’d ever loved.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casting reminder: The part of Billy Cameron is played by Ben Robson and that of his brother Daniel by Jake Weary, both stars of US series Animal Kingdom. No copyright infringement or disrespect intended, only much admiration for their looks and demeanor.

The Inquiry Commission consisted of Sir Robert Peel, Lord Warhncliffe, Sir James Graham, the Earl of Aberdeen, Lord Stanley and Sir Henry Hardinge, as well as the venerable old Duke of Wellington. Wellington and Lord Melbourne were the only two in recent history to hold the distinguished designation “Minister Without Portfolio”, and each were the guiding light of their respective parties. Melbourne had no part in the business of the commission but today, in this room, in light of the tragedy which had unfolded at Windsor Castle, he had no foes, only friends, and so Peel had invited Viscount Palmerston to sit in on the hearings on his behalf.

The full committee met in a chamber off Westminster Hall, one of the few spaces having survived the great fire of 1834. Even William, Viscount Cameron, not easily intimidated, felt the weight of history descend on him as he crossed the marble floor.

The great Lords were lined up at the long oak conference table, their secretaries seated behind them. It made for an intimidating display, Cameron thought, if one were of a mind to be intimidated.

“First you will be sworn as to the truth of the testimony you are to give here today,” The Lord Chancellor intoned. Cameron took his oath over the big bible.

“We’ve asked you here to give testimony as to the events of Sunday August 6, 1843.” Sir Robert Peel began.

Wellington interrupted him, in his distinct gravelly voice. “As I’m sure you’re aware, this Committee has already heard from many who were present that day and you were, sir, the hero of the hour. Your bravery and the speed with which you acted as been noted by this body and will be recognized publicly at a later date. You do the Army you served great credit, sir. As Commander in Chief of the British Army - and a native Dubliner myself, I might add - I salute you.” Wellington stood creakily and true to his word, gave and held a formal salute. Cameron hastened to his feet and returned it. He cleared his throat. “Thank you sir, but with all due respect I am no hero. I was never in any danger. The Queen, she faced that gun point blank and saved her child. That’s a hero, sir.”

“Yes, indeed, well said.” Peel shuffled papers. “According to many statements, you were the first – the only – man to notice the assassin. Why, pray tell, do you think the Guard did not react as they were trained to do? It was their job to protect the person of the sovereign and there were – “ He looked down at one of the papers before him. “Eight men and their commanding officer present on the road that day, riding with the Queen.”

Cameron cleared his throat. “Um…sir…perhaps because the men rode in parade formation. They looked mighty fine doing so but it left them packed in like sardines. I doubt they could see much of anything. Not easy riding flank to flank with the man next to you, and worse with people pressing in from all sides. And if any one man had seen something amiss, he would have had no way to break free and reach Her Majesty.”

“Why then were you able to see and react? If everyone was packed so tight?” Lord Stanley, War Secretary, barked.

“Because I was only trying to get past. I wasn’t worried how I looked doing it and I had no orders to maintain a pretty display.” Cameron shrugged, not entirely comfortable appearing to criticize.

Peel paused, reading further, making notes in the margin, whispering to the man beside him and to his secretary. Then he looked at Cameron once more.

“Please describe in your own words what happened that morning, what you saw and what you did. As the Duke of Wellington said, we have many statements but would like your recollection first hand,” Peel said.

Cameron paused for a long moment. When he spoke it was with great deliberation, in a tone nearly stripped of all the emotion memories of that morning engendered.

“My brother and I had traveled from our family home in Ireland. We were headed for Windsor to rejoin the Household. Daniel is in service to His Royal Highness Prince Albert.”

“And you, sir? What is your role at court?”

Cameron smirked at the question. “Me, sir? I bear my brother company and I try to make myself useful where I can. That’s about it.”

“So you have no formal title? No paid appointment? No income or allowance?” Peel continued, sounding slightly skeptical. “Receive no benefit at all from your services to Her Majesty’s Court?”

Cameron straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“You sound surprised, Prime Minister. I was ten years in the Army, none of them spent wearing pretty plumed hats. Where I fought, in the subcontinent, in the mountains of Afghanistan, men all around me died singing “God Save the Queen” and most of them carrying a picture of the Queen right next to their hearts. Is it so hard to believe that I would be pleased to serve Her Majesty in any way she might require?”

“It says here you traveled from London to Paris and back again in May. Stayed in France…eight hours? What was that about?” Cameron looked at the man – Aberdeen, he thought - who asked the question.

“Personal business, sir. Nothing to do with what happened in August.”

“We’d like to know the business that took you there, who you saw,” Lord Aberdeen persisted.

“And I prefer not to say. Next question?” Cameron crossed his arms and stared back at the man unblinking.

“Gentlemen, I don’t think we need to pry into this man’s personal affairs,” Palmerston spoke up. “As Wellington said, he’s a hero and surely we can treat our heroes better than that.”

“All right. So what happened as you came upon the Queen’s procession that morning?” Lord Stanley asked.

“We’d been on the road a spell and were antsy to get home – back to m’brother’s rooms at the Palace. Rode up on the Queen’s procession and couldn’t see a way past or around, so found ourselves stuck. Saw the fella shove his way forward and I guess it just caught my eye. In Kabul any sudden movement could be death comin’ for ya. Rode up and knocked him over. Saw – saw all the blood on the ladies’ dresses and drove them hard for the Palace.” Cameron’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, pretending a cough.

“According to the Lieutenant in charge of the Regiment, the man had his pistol in the Queen’s face. How did you know that by tackling him it wouldn’t cause the gun to discharge?” Stanley demanded.

“Guess I didn’t, if I’d thought about it at all. But pretty clear he intended the gun to discharge in Her Majesty’s face, so something had to be done.”

“Yes, indeed. That same Lieutenant is certain he fired just as you reached him. Leaping from your horse, ‘knocking him down’ as you say, caused his aim to go awry and spared Her Majesty a devastating head wound.”

Cameron shrugged and looked away, staring out the window at the scaffolding on the new Palace site. “I didn’t save her being shot by the bastard now, did I?”

Housemaids shrieking Shrill high pitched screams coming from the corridor Melbourne’s first warning something was amiss. He stepped out into the hallway in his shirt and breeches in time to see a whole bevy of housemaids racing down the grand stairway, followed by as many pages, the boys leaping over banisters. The Palace was large enough that no further sound reached him where he stood. He had paused, irresolute, unsure whether it was worth his time to see what had excited a passel of serving girls. While he still stood in the doorway he could hear clamor beginning below.

_Walk to the staircase. Look down below. Victoria, his Queen, her lifeless body cradled in the arms of the man who carried her. That pretty frock now soaked with blood. So much blood it left a wide swathe on the marble floor. Behind them, the boy his boy, so impossibly small, his face unrecognizable under its red mask, Liam too small for so much blood._

_Melbourne fumbled down the stairs despite the sharp pain suddenly cleaving his skull. Toward them, must reach them. Pain so much pain blinding pain, blinding him, white flash obliterating sight in one eye hold tight the banister. Must reach her._

_Past the women then, women wailing crying shrieking like sirens Greek chorus of cries. Emma there – was that Emma? – wearing red, bright red covering her from neck to knees. Her face stiff, eyes wide with shock she rushed him, almost knocked him over but why couldn’t he see all of her? Why wouldn’t his damn vision return? She clung to him hands grasping like claws couldn’t stop, throw her off, must reach Victoria his Queen his precious darling girl hurt needed him._

_Voices then so many voices every one harsh, strident, the words jumbling together but he couldn’t parse the meaning, couldn’t make sense of what he heard._

_“Harley Street, and hurry. Physicians.”_

_“Hyde Park Barracks. We need Army surgeons.”_

_“..Queen needs Army surgeons.. gunshot wounds…might save her.” So she still lived._ He fought with everything he had to climb out of the fog, to shove the pain that crippled him back. Melbourne pushed his way forward.

“Do you know who I am, sir? Good. Do he says. Now.” _Useless fools all if this terrible thing happened under their watch._ “You, go for the Queen’s own physician and obstetrician. And you, sir,” He glared at the imposing figure of the commander, backed by his impotent unit. “Do as he says and get men accustomed to treating – to saving – casualties of battle. Now!”

He held the other man’s gaze until it was clear he would be obeyed. Then he stepped forward into the room where Victoria lay. The great dining table had been swept clear of ornamentation. Victoria was still, her eyes closed, and as he watched a folded tablecloth was placed under her head for a pillow by the man who’d carried her in. _I know him, what the bloody hell is his name? Good man, I think, came to France for me. Good head on his shoulders. And who was that, the man using a knife to slit the Queen’s dress, strip her down to her drawers so heedless of propriety, of the respect due the Sovereign's person?_

“What happened, Cameron?” Melbourne asked, the name coming to him. “How did this happen? She never goes out without a full complement of guards and outriders. I gave that order when I was Prime Minister.”

Billy Cameron shook his head slightly. “We can talk later, sir. Talk to her now. She might be able to hear you still. _”_

_So small, so pale, so much blood gone. Drip drip drip it still fell. How could she lose so much blood and live?_

 “Victoria!” He whispered urgently. “Open your eyes. Look at me!” Her breathing was harsh, rasping and her lips blue. He folded her hand in his own.

 _“She’s having trouble breathing –“ Where were the doctors? Who was this man handling his Queen so familiarly, turning her this way and that, fingers prodding and poking and touching and…he would go mad if he had to watch other hands on her but he dare not object, he did not know how to save her and was at the mercy of others._ “Can you help her breath? Can anything be done?”

Daniel Cameron shifted his cool grey eyes from Melbourne to his brother and back again.

“I can try. I think her lung has collapsed. She has a chest wound. Get me –“ He gave quick instructions to his brother. While Billy went off to collect the items needed, Daniel turned back to Melbourne. “If you want to say a few words, this might be the time. Not sure how much longer she has.”

“William!” His name on her lips was a single breath. He leaned over, put his ear to her mouth. “I want them to know. I want history to know…you are my everything.” The Queen’s eyes closed and her head turned sideways. As Melbourne looked on in horror, her desperate hungry fight for air stopped.

Daniel Cameron brandished a knife. Turning her onto her side, he looked up at the ceiling for a long moment as if in thought, or prayer. His mouth grim, he snapped at his brother “Get him out.” Melbourne felt himself shoved roughly back. _Strong hands, pulling him away from her, pushing him out the door. Away from her, leaving her alone with this stranger, this man leaning over her with a knife in his hand, her breasts bared, her stomach full of their child exposed._

Melbourne staggered from the room where his Victoria lay. She was breathing once more but barely. No one had spoke of the unborn child and he dared not ask; all that mattered to any of them was the Queen.

Doctors came, surgeons. They came in pairs, in threes, imposing men full of their own importance. Entered the chamber with assistants bearing cases, boxes, bags.

Emma. She was rigid, motionless, standing by the wall as though trying to avoid notice. Her gown bore large garish bloodstains, and speckles of it dotted her face and neck. The palms of her hands, he saw, were covered with flaking bloodstains and bits of…matter. He swallowed hard and went to her.

“Emma! Are you…were you injured?” Melbourne asked her gently. She looked at him with the wide eyes of a madwoman, unable to speak. Instead she shook her head.

He pushed back his own despair, wanting to give comfort. He saw Lady Portman’s thin frame begin to shake, racked with violent shudders _._

“Oh William! How can you bear to look at me? See?” She held her arms wide, showing him her bloodstained hands. “William, I failed you. I was right there. I should have saved her, as she saved the child. I should have pushed him back, pushed her down, covered her with my body. I should have…you need her, not me, I should have been the one…” She collapsed, folding over, sobbing.

His thoughts clouded again. _What was she saying? Why was she crying?_ He knew he must comfort her, couldn’t find words. _Why were words so difficult to catch?_ Dammit _why couldn’t he harness his thoughts?_

When the inner door opened they jumped back and Melbourne raked a hand through his hair, clutched his head, willing the pain to stop and let him think.

Transfusion. Blood. _I should know what that means,_ he thought desperately, trying to align the words in his mind, give them meaning, but coherence was lost in the mists, words too hard to catch and hold.

The Duchess of Kent stepped forward. No wailing now, no sharp words. _Mother. Drina. Blood._ He saw her follow the doctors into the room where Victoria lay. _Dying. No not dying not yet. They were doing…things…would save her, perhaps. Then she would look to him. Dammit, this pain in my head. As though I am drunk. Mind won’t work._  

“Will the Queen live?” Melbourne asked harshly _._

Billy Cameron answered, his eyes kind. “Too early to say, sir.” His brother stepped forward. He spoke crisply and Melbourne forced himself to focus on the man’s face, to hear and understand what he said.

“It was a through-and-through wound. Bullets passed directly through the Queen, didn’t explode inside. That’s good. Her lung was punctured by bone fragment and it collapsed. Now they’re having trouble keeping both lungs inflated. She’s lost a great deal of blood. Her womb is intact and the child seems unharmed. The Queen is in labor.” Daniel Cameron spoke in a clipped, cool rhythm; his brother looked at him with respect, Melbourne in horror.

“Will she live?” Melbourne demanded once more, his voice harsh and cracking. Daniel Cameron shrugged.

“I’ve seen men live with far worse injuries in the field. I’ve seen men die of far less too. They had much worse care in dirty field hospitals or in the open, but they weren’t female either. Guess it’ll all depend how tough she is, how much she wants to live. And luck. A whole hell of a lot of luck, or prayer if that’s what you believe.”

Baroness Lehzen interrupted. “Lord Melbourne.  Prince William is unharmed. It was the Queen's blood that covered him. She laid across him to shield him. He asks for his mother. Will you go to him?”  Melbourne rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand, looked at her and then toward the room where Victoria lay, helpless to decide what he should do _._

“You are…injured?” He asked. She wore a – he struggled for the correct word – sling, and her arm was bandaged. The woman waved dismissively. “It does not matter how. The Queen needs us. The child needs us. Will you go to him?”

“I’ll go to him, sir. If you wish. You stay here. In case there’s a moment you can see her." Melbourne looked at the man who spoke. He remembered meeting him, even seeing him with the Queen, the boy, but couldn’t recall his name. If only this pain in my head would cease, he thought frantically. He did recall the man's easy manner with the child and nodded gratefully. “Please.” _He must stay near her, his brave sweet girl._

“Baroness, you may tell Prince Liam I will be up directly. We are old friends, he and I.” Lehzen nodded and left them.

Melbourne turned to Lady Portman once more. “Emma, please do not blame yourself. You should go change. You have – you have her blood on you. I’ll –“ He felt himself sway and her face went dim, seemed to dissolve in front of his eyes.

“Steady, sir,” Melbourne felt strong hands clutching his arm, felt a broad chest supporting his weight but foolishly could not seem to stand under his own power. He was dizzy and his head pounded, else he would not be able to bear the humiliation of leaning on this man. Gradually his vision cleared and he cautiously drew up to his full height as balance returned. “Are you quite well, Lord Melbourne? Should I get one of the doctors to see you? God knows there are enough and to spare in there.”

“No!” Melbourne almost shouted the word. “I apologize. The stress, clearly. I’m fine, thank you. No need to refine on it. Just a touch of wooziness.”

Emma looked at him with concern in her eyes. “William, you must be strong. The Queen needs you.” Melbourne forced a small grim smile.

“I’m quite strong enough to care for my wife and my children, Emma. You must trust me on that.” His voice was slurred but determined.

She nodded reassuringly, looking away to hide the shock she felt. He had just referred to the Queen as his wife, her children as his own, in front of all these people. Her old friend was not at all well, she thought. Cameron still stood beside them. Melbourne waved him off.

“I’m fine, dammit. A blasted headache, that’s all. Go to the prince then if you will. I am not leaving until I see her again.” Surely there were things to be done, something he could do to bring order to this chaos that had overtaken him.

“Has someone notified His Royal Highness?” Robert Peel had been summoned. Beside him stood Palmerston, Melbourne’s brother-in-law. _Strange bedfellows,_ Melbourne thought. _They are arch enemies in the political sphere and wasted precious little courtesy on each other out of it._

He rubbed his eyes vigorously, to diminish the double vision which prevented him focusing properly and addressed the young man who had been with Victoria when she stopped breathing. “You were very competent in there, sir. Have you medical training?” Daniel looked surprised and uncomfortable to be addressed directly.

“No sir, buying my colors was all the old man could give me. I hung about the surgeons as much as I could in the field, helped out in the field hospitals. Would have liked to be one of them if – anyway, I will ride out now and bring the Prince back. They don’t need my help now that proper doctors are in charge.”

“Thank you,” Melbourne said.

“You know we’ll have to enact the Regency plan, as soon as the Prince returns,” Peel announced. “We depend on you to guide him.”

“Albert needs little guidance. He’s a bright young man.”

“Steady him, then. Make him aware of the limitations of our system of government. The ship of state should never turn sharply, and certainly not when you have inexperienced hands on the wheel.”

Melbourne nodded. “Beginning to appreciate the folly of change for its own sake, Peel?” He attempted a smile and failed, judging from the expression of the Prime Minister.

“Are you quite well, William? This has been a severe shock for all of us. I can’t imagine the effect on you.” Henry Temple, Viscount Palmerston, looked at him with concern. “Emily is coming. She will cluck over Frances and then do what she can to support you.”

The senior surgeon emerged from the dining room operating theatre. “Who is in charge of matters here? To make decisions about the Queen’s care?”

Melbourne and Peel responded in unison.

“I am the person to whom you should address any questions regarding the Queen’s care,” Peel stepped forward. “As her Prime Minister.” Melbourne bit his lip angrily, watching them move out of earshot. As soon as the doctor went back inside, Peel returned shaking his head.

“I understand how it is, Melbourne, truly I do. And I do not seek to usurp the – understanding you have with the Queen. But you must apprehend that this is not the time or place to disturb the status quo. You can not say things that run contrary to established custom. Until the Prince returns, I am the only proper person to make decisions. Naturally I would not do so without consulting you, but privately, man, privately.” Peel looked at his former colleague and sighed, sympathy welling up in his eyes. Palmerston took Melbourne’s arm. “Come now. Show me where we can find something to drink.”

Peel led the way and they followed, into the Queen’s more public drawing room, the one where he met with the Queen. _Not me, though,_ Melbourne thought. _She always received me in her private office, since that very first morning._

He threw himself gratefully into a chair, leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, only looking up when he saw Peel standing before him, offering a brandy he accepted gratefully. _How strange! The glass dropped out of my hand._ He watched amber liquid soaking into the carpet. With great effort he lifted his arm, flexed his fingers.

_Tried making a fist, tried to lift his arm higher. Felt it drop leaden into his lap. Watched it move of its own volition, jerking spasmodic tremors that only stopped when he pressed it against his leg with the weight of his other – his good – arm._

He looked up to reassure the two men he knew were staring at him fixedly. _How peculiar!_ Their images doubled, then superimposed one over the other. His vision tunneled. _Like looking into the wrong end of a telescope,_ he thought. _So much work to sort it all out,_ he thought. “I want to know as soon as there’s news. I want to go to her at once,” He said, or wanted to say. Nothing comprehensible came out. He leaned back in his chair, rested his head against the back and closed his eyes.

“William! William, wake up.” Melbourne opened his eyes blearily, wondering how on earth he could have slept at such a time, feeling the burn of shame. His sister Emily stood over him, shaking his shoulder gently.

“Em! Is there news? Is the Queen -?” He struggled to sit up straight, to look at his sister’s face. Blessedly he saw only one of her, her image clear and sharp as it should be. He remembered, cautiously tested each arm. The right one functioned normally. The left one seemed numb, as though he’d banged his elbow hard. He could open and close his fingers with great effort but doubted he could successfully grip as much as a pen.

“The Queen lives, William. They transferred blood from her mother to her and it appeared to do some good, so the doctors say. They will give her more soon, from another donor. The Duchess can not give her own blood again without harm, despite her protests. I must say, I never thought the woman had so much determination. She is quite insistent that only she can give blood to her daughter.” Emily looked over Melbourne’s shoulder. “Now sit up, William. Are you quite awake? There is someone you must meet.”

Melbourne frowned. “Meet?”

Baroness Lehzen and Emma walked around to stand in front of him, the Baroness with her arm still in a sling and Emma carrying a bundle of cloth. As Melbourne watched agog, the bundle seemed to move.

“Sit back now, William. Here, let me put a cushion on your lap. Henry said you had some weakness in your arm and we don’t want you to fumble.” She arranged a small pillow and took the bundle from Lady Portman.

“William, I want you to meet –“ She looked up, at her husband, at the Prime Minister, and continued defiantly. “Your daughter. The Princess Royal.” Emily laid the babe in his arms so that her head was cradled in the crook of his left elbow, and pulled the blanket back.

Melbourne beheld the tiniest being he had ever seen. _No,_ he thought, _I’ve seen one other, that one my daughter too._ But that infant had not lived, had been blue and cold when he held her. This child was impossibly small but she was pink, her eyes were open and staring, her tiny starfish hands moving. Big blue eyes, as dark as Victoria’s. He reached down a finger and stroked her downy cheek, and she turned toward his touch, mouth open, seeking. He felt tears well up in his eyes, roll down his cheeks unhindered.

“What will you name her? She should be baptized soon.” Emily saw the look of stark horror in his eyes. _I can't give her up so soon!_ He felt his sister's reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Out of an abundance of caution only, William. She is a very tiny baby, born under difficult circumstances. But the doctors say she is healthy.”

“Elizabeth,” He answered finally. “She is the Princess Elizabeth.”


	12. Chapter 12

With Albert’s return to the Palace the chaotic atmosphere quickly calmed. Those servants not actively engaged in duties were dispersed, as were the small knots of unidentified persons who had made their way inside, in the turmoil. With Germanic efficiency and the benefit of detachment, the Prince Consort spoke to physicians, gave instructions on setting the rooms to rights.

In the small public drawing room, Peel was the first to leave, to present himself to the man who was now Prince Regent and whom he viewed as something of a protégé. Always insecure and never able to fully forget his origins in the merchant class, Peel attached himself to the Prince. Baroness Lehzen followed quickly, her purpose clear as she curtsied before Victoria’s consort.

“Your Highness,” she said, “The Queen has given birth. Would you like to see the child now? It is a girl.” Albert glanced at Peel, raising an eyebrow, before seemingly resigning himself to his duty.

“Certainly, Baroness. Show me the child.” She led him to where Melbourne still held the baby, and neatly scooped the small bundle out of his arms.

“Your Serene Highness, the Princess Elizabeth. I believe Her Majesty wishes to honor your mother and the Duchess also. Elizabeth Victoire Louisa.” Cradling the child, Baroness curtsied again, bowing her head with the gratuitous show of deference she knew would most please her mistress’s husband. Albert glanced down disinterestedly, made no move to take the baby just as Lehzen made no move to offer.

“So small!” He exclaimed. “Will it live?”

Emily, Viscount Palmerston, compressed her lips tightly and turned away; Melbourne knew his sister was struggling for decorum.

“Oh yes, Your Highness!” Lehzen replied. “Barring any unforeseen circumstance, the child is perfectly healthy. Only four pounds so she has much growing to do, but healthy.”

“Behold, Sir Robert,” Albert said to the Prime Minister. “My child. She will be the second heir to the throne, after Prince William. What is it you British say? We now have an heir and a spare. I have done my duty to your country.” As soon as the child was thus presented, the Prince Consort lost interest and Lehzen hastened to return her to her true father's waiting arms.

Despite themselves, everyone in the room sighed with relief. With those few words, in front of the Prime Minister, Albert had acknowledged the child as his. It wouldn’t have much mattered, Melbourne thought; the case law on allegations of adulterine bastardy were quite clear. Hundreds of years of precedent made it well-nigh impossible for a married man to legally dispute paternity of any child born to his wife. Cases had been decided in favor of legitimacy where a man had been dead a year when his widow gave birth, and her child still found to be legitimate. The law took a dim view of the disruption to families, titles and estates that would be caused by attempting to prove bastardy in marriage. Palmerston’s two stepchildren were his own in fact, if not in law. Melbourne could have laid claim to Egremont’s name and title if such a thing were possible in law. Childhood portraits of the younger Lamb children were displayed prominently in Petworth House and the vast Wyndham fortune eased their path they made their way in society. As it was, however, the Prince would have to be mouldering in his grave for a decade before any assertion of bastardy might credibly arise.

Melbourne also knew that English society was changing, however. No longer the freewheeling days of the Regency, there had been a backlash, a new prudery he blamed on the rise of the middle class, and Victoria might well lose the support of her people if public opinion labeled her an adulteress. He considered – some said cynically – that the monarchy was a precarious illusion, a nonsensical notion really that neither Crown nor Government could lean on too heavily lest it collapse. And that meant for the monarchy to survive the Queen had to play the role her subjects assigned.

“Her Majesty is stable enough that she will be moved to her own bed shortly. She needs quiet, they say, and so I will endeavor to bring the Palace to order. Sir Robert, thank you for coming. We will meet tomorrow morning?” Prince Albert inclined his head dismissively and accepted the Prime Minister’s bow, then turned on his heel to leave.

Palmerston lingered. “William, I’m concerned. You aren’t well. You must let a physician look at you.”

Melbourne waved him off. “Henry, if the Queen lives I will be perfectly well. Stress, dammit, why is that so hard to credit? I’m not made of stone. The woman I love –“

“William, you can not say such things out loud. You’ve blurted enough unfortunate things today. Please, man, think of the Queen.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing. What harm anyway? You know the law as well I do.”

“What?” Palmerston scoffed. “Hinton Starkey? Please. Because Hobart found that the wife of a castrated man bore legitimate issue…? This is 1843. Read the mood of the country, William. Bible-thumbing middle class bumbler Peel is the prime example of that change. Who would have ever imagined a man like him, son of a wool merchant, could head the government? I tell you, the prudes have taken over and will set the tone for the next hundred years."

“’Textile manufacturer,’” Melbourne said in mocking tones. “Henry, I understand what you’re saying. I’m hardly down on Picadilly proclaiming her parentage.” Melbourne looked down at his daughter, now sleeping peacefully, her tiny mouth pursed.

“William, I’ve been in your shoes, with your dear sister, as you know. I’m just asking you to be cautious, very very cautious what you’re about. For the Queen’s own sake. It’s only been 50 years since the French proved that monarchs as well as politicians rule only by the consent of the people.” Palmerston clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m on your side, man. Better you hear it from me than from someone who isn’t.” He left Melbourne simmering.

“William, shall we take her now? You will wish to see the Queen.” Melbourne shifted the baby to hand her off, but to his dismay felt even the slight weight of her tiny head prove too much for his weakened arm. He swore softly as Emily caught her before she could slip out of his hands.

Under Albert’s direction, the sleeping – or unconscious – Queen had been moved from the impromptu surgical suite and placed on a litter. Four footmen hoisted it up and began the precarious climb up the broad switchback staircase. They weren’t aligned properly so that the litter tilted forward and back until finally the Prince Consort swore roundly and lifted her in his arms. Melbourne watched him lightly run up the stairs carrying Victoria and felt his age and new infirmity keenly. At 21 he too could have carried the petite Queen, light as a feather. Now… He shook his head and, favoring the left leg which seemed to drag ever so slightly, slowly followed.

Melbourne passed as maids fluttered around settling the Queen in her bed. He went to his own apartment and called angrily for his valet, demanding hot water and fresh clothing. He always shaved himself but now let his valet do so, determined to visit Victoria without grizzled beard or faceful of nicks and cuts. Nor would he shuffle in looking like a disheveled old man. Baines held out several choices before he decided on a dark green jacket Victoria especially liked. He ruined four cravats before allowing the valet to arrange it.

“Are we going out, sir? Do you wish your hat?”

“No, Baines. I am going to see the Queen.” Melbourne looked at his image in the pier glass, dismayed at his color, the weariness in his eyes, then straightened his shoulders and tried for at least the appearance of vitality.

The Queen’s bedroom was empty save for her dresser. The girl sat on the edge of the bed, gently brushing Victoria’s long dark hair smooth against the pillow. She had been washed free of blood and clothed in a snowy lace trimmed gown. Melbourne stood at the foot of the bed looking at her in silence until Skerrett rose.

“I’ll leave you, sir. I can come back and sit with her later if you wish.” She bobbed a curtsy and backed out of the room.

Coverlet drawn up to her chest, no signs of injury were apparent. She slept peacefully, her face pale and pearlescent in the early evening light. Melbourne felt both awed and deeply ashamed. He knew she was young of course, but seen like this she looked no more than 12, an innocent, and he felt like a very wicked old man. She had given herself to him willingly, with eagerness and more than a little determined manipulation. But when he remembered the wanton pleasure they found in each other, memory burned. Surely, he thought, the hottest place in Hell awaits me, corrupting this child. But what could he do now? She had given herself to him body and soul, she had birthed two children he put on her, and even if he had the fortitude to draw back it would rend her heart.

She shifted ever so slightly and her eyes opened, just a slit. As he watched she tried to lift her hand, beckon him.

“Lord M,” She said so softly he had to lean in to hear. Her hand raised, reached for him.

Melbourne approached and leaned over, laying his hand over hers.

“Your Majesty, I’m here.”

“Lay…with me. I am so cold.” He hesitated long enough that a shadow crossed her eyes. Then, with great reluctance – so he told himself – Melbourne gingerly sat on the very edge of the wide bed. Victoria was too weak to turn, but her hand reached out, her face turned, searching, seeking, in a gesture so much like the baby he’d just held Melbourne felt tears choking him. He slid over, nearer her, stretched out his legs over the covers, and only when he was close enough that she could feel him did her restlessness subside. Even with the coverlet separating them, he could feel a tingling sensation from her nearness, as if a current ran between them, an invisible connection. She was on his left and he used his right arm to lift the weak one so that she could feel his embrace. _Will this abate? Will I be able to hold her again, lift my children unaided?_ Melbourne feared he knew the answer and it was frightening. Gradually, as the warmth of her skin seeped past her coverings, the fabric of his breeches, Melbourne was aware of a stirring… _there_. His first reaction was relief – _so at least_ that _still works_ – and his next was chagrin. What kind of man could see her childlike innocence, her helplessness, and feel any hint of arousal? Ultimately he settled on the relief.

He was drowsing when he heard her soft silvery voice. “Liam?” She asked tremulously.

“Liam is fine, ma’am. You saved him, they say.”

“I think –“ She frowned, struggling to remember. “I think it was Viscount Cameron who saved us. What about…baby?” Her hand wafting in the direction of her newly flattened stomach.

He leaned down, put his lips close to her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. You had a baby. We have a beautiful little girl.”

He watched her lips form a weak smile. “You have your girl, Lord M. I gave you a daughter.” She opened her eyes completely, looked as though she were fully awake for the first time since the events of that morning. She raised her arm, seemingly with great effort, laid her hand on his face. “You are so beautiful. All mine, Lord M?” Asking the question he’d answered so many times, it had become part of their lovemaking, the secret language of lovers.

“All yours, ma’am.”

“Am I…am I going to die?” Victoria whispered. Melbourne leaned back to see her more clearly, his shock visible.

“No! Why do you say that?”

“You look so sad.” Her soft hand cupped his cheek and her thumb caught the teardrop trickling down.

Later still. She slept once more and he tried to leave. When he tried to rise his movement woke her. “Stay please. Sleep beside me.” Melbourne’s resolve failed him. His girl, his own sweet girl for better or worse. He was surely damned already for what he’d done, should he be damned again, forsaking her to salve his conscience, his…pride? He took off his jacket and laid it on a chair, unknotted his neck cloth, kicked off his shoes and carefully lay down beside her.

He didn’t sleep much that night. Too much weighed on him. His own health – he was sure he knew what had happened to him and if he was right, there was nothing physicians could do. That led him to imagining what lay ahead for him, and more importantly for the girl beside him. Had it all been a horrible mistake? Or, worse, on some level he didn’t acknowledge, a grievous wrong he had done her? He hadn’t, God knows, set out to seduce a very young woman of any standing. Young women had never particularly appealed to him, no matter who they were, how ripe for seduction, how willing. Melbourne knew his own tastes well, knew that wit, sophistication, a cosmopolitan world view, stimulating conversation and flirtation elevated to an art form were prerequisite to the baser urges. Since Caro – even during his marriage – his mistresses had always been mature women, attractive certainly, but with the depth of understanding that is only accrued by living a full life. The few glimpses he’d had of the old King’s niece, on her very occasional visits to court, had been of a child, young even for her few years, sheltered and unfamiliar with society, and if he’d thought of her beyond that it was to fervently hope he’d be long out of office before she ascended the throne. And yet, from their first meeting, she had stunned him with her vivacity, her strong well-formed character, the elemental force she seemed to exude. That he was being inexorably drawn into a web of passion, nay obsession, had only dawned on him gradually. It was her, the melting looks she gave him, the small flirtations she tried out, and then more undeniably, the look of adoration in her big blue eyes, she was the one who finally made him see what everyone else had already observed. They were two souls drawn together by something that felt so much larger than human design, or so it seemed. But what if he’d had the resolution, the strength of character to stay away? She was so young, surely she would have found someone else she could love? Not Albert, that was doomed from the start, by the Prince’s stern humorless character, rigidity and fundamentally Puritanical outlook. He was absolutely the wrong man to push at the young Queen, even putting aside his lack of attraction to women. But someone – the Russian Grand Duke she’d found so appealing, princes, dukes – surely, if it hadn’t been for her focus on her Prime Minister to the exclusion of all others, she would have fallen out of love with him in time, and found someone more suitable to love? But then he remembered how surrounded she’d been by those seeking to control her, to rule through her, to take advantage of her youth and inexperience. If he’d done anything good and right, if he left any legacy at all, it was his part in guiding her on the path of self-reliance, of trusting her own instincts above all others, even himself. And she’d bloomed magnificently, her natural intelligence absorbing new knowledge like a sponge, her natural dignity worn like a mantle. _Gloriana!_ He thought, his role in shaping the Queen to meet her destiny was his legacy, even more than the son he’d leave behind. She would grieve for him, but she was strong and courageous, stronger than even she knew. Conroy, her old nemesis, had given her that, damn the man.

Melbourne sighed, shifted position so that he could look at her as she slept, trace her features lightly with a fingertip as he had done with the babe in his arms. _Could things have ended any differently? Are some things God-ordained? Is that realism or am I deluding myself?_  No matter how he tried he couldn’t reassemble the pieces of their life in any other configuration than this. Once he had knelt and kissed her hand, once she had looked in his eyes that first time, inexorable fate had put them on this path together and they would follow it together until its end. He uttered one heartfelt prayer, that he have as much time and as many good days to love her and his children as he, as they, deserved and then go quickly, sparing them at least the agony of a slow decline. He leaned over his sleeping Queen and kissed her ever so lightly.

As the sun was just lightening the sky Melbourne was awakened by tapping on the Queen’s dressing room door. He knew that through that door was the servant’s passage her maid had first shown him when they took her into their confidence. He rose quickly and lost his balance for a moment, his weakened left leg nearly buckling until he remembered to compensate by locking his knee and moving more deliberately. Still in the shirt and breeches he had slept in, Melbourne opened the door a crack. The maid, Miss Skerrett, was there, out of breath, her usual neat appearance slightly mussed, as though she’d dressed in a hurry.

“Beg pardon, sir, but the Queen’s doctors are coming up. Brody came to warn – to tell me, as I asked him.” Melbourne nodded, understanding. He pulled on his boots and followed her out into the narrow back passage. The girl looked both ways in case other servants, dressers, valets coming to tend other early risers, might see and then nodded for him to pass. He patted her shoulder and smiled, pressing a gold coin into her hand.

Melbourne made his way back to his own adjacent apartment and pulled a dressing gown over his shirt before sticking his head out in the main hallway. The physicians were just coming down the corridor, the Duchess of Kent with them, still in her dressing gown and curl papers.

He met them in the hallway. “How is the Queen, sir? Will she recover fully?” The two physicians looked at one another. To Melbourne’s surprise, the Queen’s mother spoke in his defense.

“You may speak freely to Lord Melbourne. He is very close to the Queen and her husband. Lord Melbourne, we are about to conduct another blood exchange procedure. ‘Transfusion’ they call it. I tell them, they must not take blood from anyone else when Drina has a mother at hand.”

The more senior of the doctors cleared his throat. “Sir, Her Majesty has been through an ordeal. We must keep her very calm, sedated in fact, to let her lung heal. You understand it was wounded?” Melbourne nodded. “The young medic who thought to drain her chest cavity saved her life. Blood pooling in her chest was exerting pressure on her lungs and heart. She wouldn’t have survived until we arrived without his quick thinking. Talented hands, that fellow, and the courage to do what must be done. Cutting into the Queen, inserting a drain with the material he had on hand…I personally was quite impressed.”

“Other than that, sir, the Queen has lost a great deal of blood, more than her body can produce, and the Duchess’s bravery in providing her own has kept Her Majesty alive this long.” Melbourne looked at the small bird-like woman, so disapproving of him for so long, and she seemed to recognize the raw gratitude in his eyes. She spared him a small nod of acknowledgement, the hint of a smile, before she blushed and looked away.

“The Queen will benefit from the prayers of the nation. I believe the Archbishop of Canterbury is leading a service this morning with that intention. She is not out of danger yet. But things are not as dire as we originally feared. That is all I can tell you, sir.”

Melbourne nodded to show his understanding.

“As for lasting damage. As we told her husband most emphatically, the Queen must have no more children. Her Majesty sustained certain…injuries which, if she is able to conceive at all – doubtful at this point - would endanger her life.”

“Drina has a prince and a princess, thanks be to God. She needs no more children and…her husband, as he loves her, will put no more on her.” The Duchess stated baldly, meeting Melbourne’s eyes with a clear message in hers.

Melbourne bowed to the Duchess. “Your Highness, thank you from a grateful nation, for giving life to your daughter not once but twice.”

He stayed in the corridor until the Queen’s door was shut firmly behind them, then, deep in thought, made his way back to his rooms.

***

Each day thereafter brought incremental improvement in the Queen’s condition. She was able to sit up propped against mounded feather pillows and hold her daughter, her little son pressed against her uninjured side. She was soon able to entertain a few select visitors, within the physicians’ orders she not be too stimulated. Victoria was content enough to let Albert handle the boxes without consulting her, kept drowsy from morphine and wanting only to listen to light amusing conversation from those permitted to see her. She insisted Lord Melbourne keep a chair beside her bed so he could bear her company and he made a habit of bringing a book with him to while away the time as she slept, knowing she was wont to wake suddenly and look for him. Her Ladies in Waiting brought in the latest Paris fashion journals, discoursing about color and fabric and style, and she smiled vaguely listening to their chatter. 

“Where’s Emma?” She asked suddenly, on the fourth day of such visits. “I haven’t seen her. William?” Victoria’s voice sharpened with sudden concern. “Was she injured? Is – is she all right? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Melbourne chose his words carefully, not wanting to upset her. “Emma has returned to her country home, ma’am. She is…unable to return to Court at the moment.”

“Why? Tell me honestly, William. Was she injured and no one told me?” Victoria struggled against the yielding pillows, determined to sit upright.

“Will you leave us for a few moments, please?” He asked the Queen’s ladies. When they’d left, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, facing Victoria, picking up her hands to hold.

“Emma was not injured, ma’am. But she was quite distraught afterward. She feels responsible, thinks she failed you…and me, I’m afraid. She has it in her head that her duty entailed protecting you and our children. I know –“ He shook his head. “It makes no sense. But there it is. She tried to tell me and I’m afraid I wasn’t able to reassure her.”

“Poor Emma! William, you must go to her. Talk to her. Make her understand that if my guards couldn’t stop that man, she surely couldn’t, nor was it her duty to try. Please tell her – ask her to return, if not to my service, then as a friend. I wish to see her.” Melbourne looked at her intense, earnest expression, her wide appealing look.

“You wish me to travel to her, ma’am? She lives near Brocket Hall, you recall. It would be a day’s ride there and back.”

Victoria hesitated, then nodded. “Yes please. You are her friend. Surely you can make her understand she is not to blame herself. That I wish her to be my friend too. Not my guard or my…servant. My friend.”

He nodded. “I will go tomorrow, ma’am. That should give your uncles time to visit and depart again.” He smirked. Victoria looked at him closely, touched his face, tracing his features.

“William, you look so tired. This has been very difficult for you too. And I’ve been very demanding of your time. You do not sleep well, I know. When I wake up you are there, awake, watching me. That makes me feel safe but I fear it is taking a toll on you.”

He lifted her hand, kissed her palm. “Victoria, watching you breath, knowing you are safe in my arms, does not tire me, it is all that keeps me going.”

Victoria looked doubtful but bowed her head so her forehead touched his “You must take care of yourself so you can take care of me, Lord M. I can not manage without you.”

Melbourne raised his face, kissed her, felt her lips open under his as she kissed him back. “And now, ma’am, I will call your Ladies to return. We’ve spent quite enough time tête-à-tête.” He laid her hands back on her lap and rose. The weakness surprised him once again and he stumbled, falling against the bed, reaching out instinctively with his arm. That too failed him, and he sat down hard. Victoria’s face had gone white with shock.

“Lord M!” She pushed herself forward, kneeling beside him, wrapping her arms about his shoulders. “What is it? You are ill!”

“It’s nothing, Victoria. Truly, a bit of passing weakness. I – I haven’t eaten much today.”

“William! I don’t believe you. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, darling, I promise.” He looked away, angry with himself for his own weakness, for having disturbed her peace. She turned his face back to her.

“You do not lie to me, William. Ever. That is not who we are. And you don’t keep things from me. Please. I beg you. Talk to one of the physicians today. If they say there is nothing amiss then I will…I will accept it. And if there is, we will deal with it together. Please.” Her eyes burned so brightly he could not look away, nor could he continue the charade.

“Very well. I will see a physician if you wish.” He sighed. “For you. As I do everything, my little love, for you.”


	13. Chapter 13

_29 September 1843_

_Buckingham Palace_

_Dear Emma,_

_As I write this it’s been well over a month since last I saw you. I must first protest strongly, that is far too much time to have passed between friends of such long standing as we are. Your Queen needs you. I need you. Pray tell Edward you are needed at Court. If his cattle improvement programme demands he ruralize indefinitely then it is his duty to Crown and Country to spare you to us._

_Her Majesty is mending well. She is still quite weak and her breathing becomes easily labored but the doctors say that will ease in time. One of the benefits of youth is the body’s resilience. Meantime she has her cavalier – you remember him, big Irish fellow? – to carry her bodily up and down the stairs and out of doors. He is the only palatable alternative to the wheeled chair she so detests. Now that I think on it, we could send him to bring you back. I have no doubt he would sweep you up right under Edward’s nose and carry you back bodily if the Queen so commanded. He is just that passionately (or should I say ‘enthusiastically’?) devoted to Her Majesty’s service._

_I would have come myself long since, but I am been a trifle unwell. I am growing stronger daily but there was an unfortunate incident which physicians most uselessly label ‘cerebral_ _apoplexy’. They tell me my consolation should be that no other disease carries off more distinguished men in their middle years. I won’t bore you with all the tedious details but after some hours of altered consciousness and loss of reason, the attack left me with mild paralysis on my left side._ _My doctors tell me that the first apoplectic stroke, as a rule, is not a severe one, and Nature, by means of a slight inflammation in the brain, heals the part torn, and in due time removes the blood-clot by absorption. Most physicians recommend a program of bleeding, along with a most tortuous restriction of all alcohol and even red meat. I am now treated by a doctor who considers bleeding counterproductive, and says it merely encourages the body to produce more blood faster to replace that which has been lost. All agree that avoidance of mental stress, exercise and extreme moderation in diet are the only cure. You can only imagine how rigorously HM seeks to enforce those strictures. I confess, dear Emma, if I must have some female fussing about me nervously, careful of my health, I prefer it be an old friend who at least remembers me in all the full vigor of youth. It quite chafes my fragile ego to have her see only frailty. Thus, for reasons of pure selfishness, I implore you return promptly and spare me such unmanning._

_I am in good spirits generally – how can I not be? Life is too short to allow for the alternative. My own may be no shorter than another man’s, or a new clot could form tomorrow and end it all. What can I do, save follow Horace and “carpe diem”? Part of that is to cherish every moment with those I love, and that includes you, dearest of friends!_

_You have not yet met the Princess Elizabeth and for that I chastise you most severely! She is a wonder, delicate as a fairy princess but with a lusty cry and quite her mother’s imperious nature. Do I sound quite infatuated? I suppose I must. For all that is lost with advancing years, what we gain is the sure knowledge of what is most precious._

_This is my plea as one old friend to another but please be assured Her Majesty joins me in wanting to see you return. She has asked about you often and is most desirous of your friendship, not merely your service. As you know, she is still a very young woman and although a great Queen, can only benefit from your experience and wisdom as well as your friendship. And, I may add, you and I between us have quite spoiled her so that only our rather cynical and often blunt observations can truly make her laugh. The polite simperings of other, more careful attendants leave her yawning and quite bored, when she isn’t snapping their heads off. They are a tedious lot, the ‘petticoat brigade.’ Wherever did Peel find such milquetoast misses?_

_I have rambled on far too long here, but it is so good to ‘talk’ to you even by letter. If you have not arrived back at court in the next few weeks, I promise I will come to bring you back myself,_ _apoplexy be damned_ _. If I must take that arduous journey in my present state, I feel certain Her Majesty will assign the chevalier to travel with me and he will brook no refusal._

_Your loving friend,_

_William_

_2 October 1843_

_William –_

_I hardly know what to write! You have always been the strongest, most vital of men and I am certain that nothing can change you in spirit. Yet the thought of you ill, even for a short time, shakes me to the core, as I know it must the Queen. I can quite understand that she strives to enforce the limitations your doctors advise. Someone must, for surely there was never a man born with the sense to care for his own health in the way a woman who loves him will._

_Edward was quite pleased to have me home for a spell after spending nearly all my time the past few years at Court in Her Majesty’s service. I fear that delight paled with daily exposure and we have been at each other’s throats for some days now, over nothing much except the tedium of enforced isolation for me, and his being unaccustomed to such oversight as I feel it my wifely duty to provide._

_I think you know far better than you admit why I felt I forfeited my right to attend your Queen, or even remain in your sight as a reminder of that awful day. For your comfort, I say no more on that account._

_I will come to London. Do your best to behave and follow the physicians’ decrees until I arrive to take matters in hand. If you think it proper, please tell the Queen I would be most honored to return to her service. Your courier awaits this reply so I end -_

_Yours faithfully,_

_Emma_


	14. Chapter 14

William Lamb strolled down St. James under a bright October sky. He paused to bow, tip his hat, exchange greetings with half a dozen acquaintances, all of whom were too well bred to betray their eagerness for a word or two but who detained him nonetheless. Few eyes flickered to the ornate walking stick in his left hand, such a _de_ _rigueur_ accessory amongst men of his generation it attracted no notice. Melbourne thought wryly how he’d had no patience with such affectation in his youth, nor had the Beau who preached simplicity and good taste as the pinnacle to which any man of fashion might aspire. Now it was purely utilitarian, as a catch for his occasional slight loss of balance and to steady his weakened arm, still subject to occasional tremors when not engaged.

Melbourne felt quite well, so much so that he was thoroughly over considering _how_ he felt on any given day, preferring to take what came for granted once more. _Not to become one of those tiresome old men who take inventory of their symptoms for others’ elucidation_ , he’d decided, and shut down any  inquiries to that effect.

The sun was warm, the air cool and all was right with the world. He had a beautiful young woman who had not yet attained her 25th year, two children in the nursery, and he was alive to enjoy them. Melbourne dismissed further thought as he stepped into Brooks’ dim interior and prepared to rejoin his world.

It went without saying that the betting book held many unseemly wagers on the outcome of recent events – such was custom and Melbourne knew they meant no harm wagering on the life of their Queen. Still, he had determined to steadfastly maintain his policy of shutting down any direct discussion of Her Majesty in his presence.

He was hailed from all corners of Great Subscription Room and debated only a moment before joining a small group of gentlemen including George Wyndham, John Ponsonby, Earl Spencer and two military gentlemen Ponsonby introduced as the Lieutenants Standish.

Melbourne declined offers of strong spirits and accepted only a glass of burgundy.

“So, man…? What news from the Palace? We haven’t seen you out and about since before the events of August…”

“Prince Regent keeping you busy I’ll warrant. What could that cub know of English politics? Peel’s bear leading him, or trying…”

“Melbourne’s a senior advisor to the Crown, now that he’s out of the Leadership. Leave politics behind, that’s a man.” Melbourne’s lip twitched in a small smile as Ponsonby spoke to one of the Lieutenants.

“Standish? Where’d you serve?” Melbourne turned the conversation.

“The Royal Regiment of Artillery, sir. We’re only in town on leave, heading back soon.”

“Saw plenty of action at Maharajpore?” Melbourne recalled a recent conversation he’d had regarding the battle there.

“Yes, sir. My brother was wounded and I was given leave to escort him back. Fierce fighting, sir. The Marathans fought intensely and few escaped.  We finally defeated the them, lost nearly 800 men killed, wounded or missing. They lost 4000. Few here even know of the engagement, sir.”

“I know a former Guard who keeps abreast of the war news. When prompted to serious discourse and unable to escape it, he shares what he’s heard with us.”

“The young man Wellington declared a hero? I hear he will be knighted and receive a real English title for his service to Queen and country. Both houses unanimous in their declaration. I was there for the vote.” Melbourne looked up at the arrival of John Russell. They were nominal allies and sometime friends – probably relations somewhere along the line, as all Whigs seemed to be cousins of one sort or another – but privately Melbourne distrusted the man’s ideological ferocity. The fellow seemed more concerned with civil liberty than with the creation of a more reasonable and civilized society, anathema to Melbourne’s own outlook. Justice certainly, but as with all things, moderation was the thing.

“The Queen, Melbourne, the Queen. Is she truly on the mend, as Peel tells us? Why hasn’t she made any appearances?” Russell demanded in his stentorian voice.

Melbourne laughed. “John, you know the position you put me in,” he chided. “But in this case I can confirm Sir Robert’s assessment. Her Majesty is mending well and in fine spirits, the Prince and Princess Royal are flourishing. She will resume public life shortly. I believe, if Peel hasn’t told the House yet, he will momentarily, the Regency has ended and Her Majesty is back at the reins. Now – pray tell me what news I’ve missed. Is –“ Melbourne turned the conversation once more, this time with greater success.

He dined later with Ponsonby and the Duke of Norfolk, threw down a few bets and left feeling well satisfied. The most persistent question, after those concerning the Queen’s health, was directed to a resumption of the levees and balls which normally commenced at the beginning of autumn.

“Will there be a Diplomatic Reception and Ball this year? Or will Her Majesty receive the ambassadors privately?”

“I don’t think that’s been decided yet, but it’s a reasonable question. I will put it to Her Majesty and His Highness. I think – only an impression, mind – that Her Majesty grows restless in confinement and might be delighted at the prospect of a ball.” Melbourne bowed and took his leave. As he collected his hat and walking stick, the concierge presented a bundle of letters on a silver tray. When Melbourne recognized the handwriting he groaned inwardly, debating whether he should insist the entire packet be returned unopened, or whether that would trigger some unforeseen consequence by the very unpredictable author seemingly determined to attract his notice by any means. Sighing, he took up the letters.

***

Lady Emma Portman took herself to the nursery when it was obvious William would not return to dine at Buckingham. She knew that without fail he would put in an appearance there, even before joining the Queen in her drawing room. And it would be a good place to talk, away from the ears of interested listeners.

Emma had been back at Court for only a few days, and her reappearance had proved much less difficult than she’d anticipated. The impulsive little Queen had thrown herself at her with unabashed delight, affection and perhaps even some relief, and seeing her sovereign so uninhibited – so _unchanged_ – alleviated a good measure of trepidation and even some of the guilt she carried.

The new, mostly Tory, Ladies in Waiting and maids of honor were a pack of ninnies, it didn’t take Emma long to decide. Only she and Harriet remained, and Emma suspected the Duchess’ loyalty was less to her Queen than to the Prince’s brother. That flirtation, or affair, continued apace. Emma privately doubted the thing had been consummated, there were far too many sighs and stolen whispers for that. They mooned after each other, she and the German Duke, quite insufferable to anyone with eyes and a modicum of sense. Nearly as obvious as – but that was what she must discuss with William.

Baroness Lehzen dismissed Lady Lyttleton shortly before eight. Lady Lyttleton was the children’s official governess, but that was a purely political appointment. The Baroness made it quite clear who ruled the nursery, and the lives of the royal children.

Emma’s very disinterest in the infants and their bedtime ritual seemed to reassure the Baroness that she was there neither to interfere, nor steal an iota of their precious affection. Emma inclined her head in a stiff nod of acknowledgement and took a seat near the door, as far as she could get from the cradle. A wet-nurse took the little princess up for her bedtime feed and it was all Emma could do to avoid casting disgusted glances their direction. Lady Portman was no lover of babies, and while William’s son showed promise, he had some ways to go before his personhood was established in her eyes.

William didn’t arrive until the wet-nurse and maids had finished their business and left, and only the Baroness remained, reluctant to leave the nursery while an interloper was present.

“You may retire, Baroness. I am waiting for Lord Melbourne,” Emma said coolly. The Baroness sniffed.

“I will wait with you. Lord Melbourne prefers his time with the children alone.” Lehzen retorted stiffly.

Some minutes later, William entered, bringing with him the tang of outdoors in autumn and a faint whiff of tobacco and brandy. He didn’t notice Emma sitting in the glow of a single candle until the Baroness informed him.

“Lady Portman has been waiting for you, Lord Melbourne. Shall I stay and escort her back to the Queen’s apartments?” Her tone made the required answer quite clear.

“Emma! This is a surprise! I am afraid my tardiness has caused His Royal Highness to stay up past his bedtime. If your business can wait -?”

“I will wait. Please assure the Baroness that I am safe to leave alone, under your supervision of course,” Emma said tartly. Melbourne smiled crookedly and dismissed Lehzen, hoping he hadn’t diminished his hard-won credit with her.

Emma’s back was to the children as she waited in the small sitting area, but she heard his voice clearly as he addressed his small son, heard the bedsprings creak as he sat beside the child, heard his wonderful raspy tones as he began reading aloud. She was lulled by the sound so that he had to call her name twice before she heard.

“Come, Emma, see my daughter.” He stood over the ornate cradle where the small infant lay asleep. Emma thought he looked absurd, staring transfixed at a tiny baby who was barely formed, but he also looked unspeakably beautiful, sharp features softened with such an expression of pure love her heart twisted painfully.

She walked slowly across the room toward him. “Please, Emma?” William took a seat in the rocking chair so recently vacated by the wet-nurse and gestured to the cradle. “I wish to hold her and don’t quite trust this weakness yet.” He lifted his arm to show her. “Will you please?”

“You want me to – to take her up?” Her voice came out in a croak and her expression was as close to panic as he’d ever seen it. He laughed softly.

“Yes, Emma. Support her head and –“

“I know! I’ve had four of these. But I always left their care to those hired for the purpose.” Gingerly, and with such a sour expression he wanted to laugh once again, she lifted the Princess Elizabeth and laid the child in his waiting arms.

“Now sit with us, Emma.” She sat stiffly on the very edge of a chair near him and watched him as he watched the face of the sleeping child. Her children were quite grown, as were the children of her contemporaries – as William’s children from his first marriage would be, had they lived – but she didn’t remember ever feeling about them as babies the way he clearly felt about his, nor could she imagine her own husband handling his own babies with such tender devotion.

“Look at her, Emma! Perfection! What do you imagine she dreams of?” Lady Portman rose once more, and went to stand beside him, her hand resting easily on his shoulder. It was a pretty baby, she thought, so pink, with such dainty features. As they watched, the little mouth pursed and began moving.

“I imagine she dreams of the very ample breast of her nurse, William. Where _do_ they find such creatures, more bovine than human? How on earth do they ever fit those massive appendages into their gowns?” Melbourne laughed so heartily the baby’s eyes flickered open, and he immediately shushed her and began rocking.

“William, I am waiting for you because I wish to speak to you away from company, and I imagine the Queen must be wondering where you are.” Melbourne looked at her most curiously, but sighed and moved to surrender the baby. Lady Portman laid the child in her cradle once more, and Melbourne tucked the soft edge of a blanket under her chin.

“Now. What is it you wish to talk to me about that must be said so privately, Emma?” He asked her when they’d stepped away from the sleeping children.

Suddenly Lady Portman felt the weight of awkwardness and uncertainty descend. _I must choose my words very carefully,_ she thought.

“I have only been back a short time, and I believe the Queen has not been up and about much longer. She has all her new attendants, those foisted on her by Peel, and I don’t think many of them have a sense for how we manage here.”

Melbourne’s expression was one of polite interest, but she could see his mind was already wandering, undoubtedly anxious to join his Queen.

“As Her Majesty’s chief Lady-in-Waiting I have certain responsibilities to ensure the _tone_ of the household, and even safeguard the…morality of the young maids entrusted to us. As you know.” _I am obfuscating badly_ , she thought. _But how can I say what needs to be said? Even between us, how can I warn him?_

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, my dear. You are sounding like Flora Hastings, with her concern for the morality of the young ladies of the Court. I’ve not known you to be such a prude.”

Lady Portman sighed so deeply her narrow shoulders shuddered with the effort. Lips tight, she barreled ahead.

“It is not proper to have that man – the new _Baron_ Cameron – spend all his time with Her Majesty’s household. He flirts, he talks quite inappropriately, he lolls about as if he were – - one of the Queen’s spaniels. They walk out unchaperoned, unattended. Why, just today he was regaling them all with a recounting of an… _amorous_ encounter. His conduct is unacceptable and you must do something. Send him to – to Hades, but remove him from the Household.”

“And someone has complained to you?” Melbourne prompted. “Why haven’t you talked to Victoria about this? It’s her concern, not mine, how her ladies conduct themselves.” Lady Portman’s eyes flashed and her mouth turned down.

“He is a favorite of Her Majesty’s and she would not listen to me. Today when all the – the ninnies were giggling, even Harriet, and I suspect even titillated by his most _warm_ conversation – Her – I could do little to stop it. They look at me as though I’m a prude, or a spoilsport or worse, a – like they do Baroness Lehzen. And William, you _know_ that’s not me at all. But this man – he is a young handsome _rake_ , quite _disreputable_ – it is time he left us.”

Melbourne saw her very evident distress and suppressed his urge to chuckle.

“I recall they described me in those same terms when warning Her Majesty against me, Emma. And you see, it only enflamed her determination to resist such attempts to dictate her behavior. Are you – tell me true, my dear – are you more concerned that he flirts with the very young, foolish girls in the household, or that he doesn’t flirt with you? As you find him so handsome I –“ Lady Portman’s color rose and she lost all patience. _Damned fool_ , she thought.

“No, William, I am not concerned that he flirts with the Queen’s attendants, nor am I disappointed he _doesn’t_ flirt with me. I am concerned that his true affection lays with the Queen.” As soon as she’d spoken she was worried lest her bluntness had wounded him. But, improbably, his face still wore a smile, small and twisted as it was.

“Yes, Emma, I am quite sure it does. Insofar as his interest run deep at all, which I doubt, he has never hidden his admiration for Victoria. In fact, he quite flaunts it. I suspect because it allows him to juggle his many dalliances without fear of commitment he doesn’t intend.” Lady Portman’s unblinking gaze was fixed on his face so intently that his own smile gradually faded.

“Are you saying that you think he _actually_ intends --?” _Lord help me, men are stupid, even this one who should certainly know better if experience is any teacher._

“Emma, dear friend,” He took up her hand in his. “I appreciate your concern, truly I do, but he amuses Victoria, no more, and he’s certainly done enough to earn both our regard. I admit it grows wearisome having him always about, dandling Liam on his knee, even coming in here and picking up the Princess unbidden when Victoria visits but –“

“William, open your eyes! I care about your happiness and can’t bear to see you make the same mistake again, that you made with Caroline. Tolerating her admirers, even consoling Bulwer-Lytton when he was so infatuated with your wife. It’s not as though you don’t know better now. Caro _told_ you what you should have done differently, to curb her impulses, to rein her in. She wanted you to put down your foot and assert yourself, to command obedience. She would _not_ want to see you make the same errors again, and William, I will _not_ permit it. Now rid yourself of that man!”

He dropped her hand as though it was repugnant and stood so suddenly Emma felt a momentary flash of something like fear. With visible effort, he calmed himself.

“Emma, you are _not_ comparing Victoria to Caroline? Tell me that.” His voice was low, dangerously soft, and Emma realized she had truly angered him. _Very well then,_ she thought. _That’s a start._

“No, William, I am not. They are different people, just as I think you are different now. But the Queen is a very young woman, and in an atmosphere of giddiness I think no young woman can entirely withstand the allure of such fervent admiration. That is all. But things can change, people can find themselves in situations for which they are unprepared and…”

“I believe you think you speak out of concern for my welfare, Emma. Even if I determined to follow your suggestion and get rid of Cameron, how would you suggest I do it? I have no standing here, no right to demand anything of Her Majesty.”

Lady Portman rose and walked to stand before him. She reached out a hand and laid it his arm to still his hand, which had begun raking through his hair, always a sign of anxiety.

“Oh William! Of course you have the right! The Queen has given it to you when she gave herself to you. I do not mean to suggest that her affection for you has altered. The way she watches for you when you are absent, and watches only you when you are present…Victoria loves you, she adores you, William. I never meant to imply otherwise.”

“And yet…?”

“And yet.” Lady Portman briskly rubbed her hands together. “Now…shall we join the Queen in her drawing room?”

She boldly tucked her hand through his arm with the determined confidence of a very old friend, and walked with him to the Queen’s apartments.

When they entered a lively conversation was underway. One of the young men in the Prince Consort’s household played the piano as a young woman stood beside him, singing poetry set to music, verse which Melbourne recognized. Several others played cards at a table set to one side, decanters of brandy shimmering in the light to the movement of hands slapped down with enthusiasm. The Queen sat on a sofa with Lady Sutherland at her side, the Prince’s brother Ernst talking with great animation, and before them, stretched out on the rug like a great cat, Cameron lay at the Queen’s feet.

Melbourne couldn’t help but stare, wondering how much weight he should give Emma’s advice, uncomfortably aware of his own innate impulse to avoid confrontation, to avoid even letting anyone know when something did disturb him. _Never let them see how hard it is to bear_ had been the defining creed of his life, assumed nonchalance his response to anything upsetting. The more upsetting, the more he hid his true feelings behind a pleasant mask, coolly unconcerned. Yet it was true that at her worst, not only in that damned novel but in letters and impassioned appeals every time he resolved to divorce her, Caro had attributed her behavior to his reluctance to intervene. A woman wants a man to make her feel valued, important enough to fight for, she’d thrown at him by way of rationalizing her own behavior.

As he watched, the man at Victoria’s feet toyed with the laces of her slipper. She appeared not to notice, her expression as politely impassive as it ever was in company. But Melbourne knew every plane of her face, every flicker in her eyes, and her color was heightened, her eyes glittering. Recognizing that for what it was, his grip tightened on the glass he was holding so that the stem cracked.

Emma, beside him, knew the moment he’d ascertained just how far this thing had gotten and heard the hard crunch of glass in his hand. She deftly plucked it from his hand and set it down discreetly on a table behind them. She exchanged a single glance with him and moved forward to approach the Queen.

Never had he experienced a violent physical impulse quite as strong as the one which compelled him to aim a hard kick right in that man’s insufferable face. Melbourne took a deep breath to calm himself as Emma returned with the Queen. Her guests watched curiously. Etiquette compelled them to rise when the Queen did, and they looked about uncertainly, not sure whether they had been dismissed. Once again, Lady Portman stepped in, assuring everyone that the Queen was merely summoned to the nursery and everyone should carry on.

The Queen looked up at Melbourne, her flush fading, her face pale with concern.

“What is it, William? Are the children -? Emma said -?” He took her elbow and steered her toward the door. Once in the hallway, unsure where to take her, he headed for his own apartments.

“I wish to speak to you, ma’am,” He almost growled at her. Confused, Victoria went with him willingly.

Once inside, he shut the door firmly and stood in front of the Queen.

“What’s wrong, William?” She asked again, her voice trembling. “Has something happened?”

“Not yet, ma’am. Not yet,” he responded cryptically. Now that he had her in front of him, that perfect guileless face upturned, he lost his anger in a rush.

“I think it’s time your _cavalier_ , your new Baron, went back to – wherever he has to go back to. I believe his English title came with land, an estate? It’s high time he visit his new holdings.”

“Billy? But why? His brother has a position with Albert, as you know, and he remains to be close to him.” Melbourne assessed her tone, her manner, and thought she did not intend to deceive. She was really that innocent…yet.

“Please. I think we all know why he remains and it is not his _brother_ he wishes to stay close to.” Victoria blushed prettily and looked down as she took his meaning.

“William! He plays at his devotion to me! It’s part of his…part of his act, the unrequited love, the devotion of a knight of old. You know that!” Melbourne felt his anger grow once more.

“I know no such thing, ma’am. And I do not wish to discuss it. I want him _gone_. I will talk to him myself. We will advance him his new income and he can spend it on cattle or improvements to his property or ---  buy a house and a few opera dancers to put in it, I don’t give a damn.”

“William! Who are you to --?” Victoria’s own temper rose; he well knew how poorly she responded to any attempt to dictate to her, but he found he didn’t care and wasn’t particularly impressed.

“Ma’am, you well know who I am. You’ve given me the right to make this demand. Haven’t you?” He took her chin somewhat roughly and raised it so she met his gaze and could see how serious he was. “Haven’t you?”

He wanted to say so much more, wanted to force her to acknowledge that, intentionally or not, she had warmed to his advances, was even stirred by the _lèse-majesté_ of his casual physicality, his daring to _touch_ her. But he held back, unwilling to destroy the innocence which shielded her from any awareness of her own feelings. _Once that curtain was drawn back, who knows where it would lead?_

Victoria opened her mouth to speak several times, then closed it again, looking suddenly very young, very unsure of herself.

“William, surely you don’t think that I – that I would ever return his affections, if indeed he feels the way you say? I – I love only you, I have only ever loved you. I – I want you, no one else and I would never –“ Her eyes were troubled, with an expression bordering on shame. _Remorse?_ He wondered, then stopped himself.

“You are a beautiful woman, Victoria, and you are _mine_. All _mine_ ,” Melbourne rasped, repeating the words of her lovemaking. She recognized her own words and he saw her expression soften. “I want him gone because I will not have anyone think to have what I hold dear. Not even if such thoughts exist only in his mind. I will not have it. Are we clear?” He still held her chin firmly, even as he felt her hands at his waist, fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat. Victoria bit her lip, wetted it with the tip of her tongue in an unwitting gesture that send a flush of heat through his blood. She stood on her tiptoes, willing him to bend to meet her lips with his own and he could not resist.

Melbourne lost himself in kissing her, pressing her against the door at her back, pressing his erection into her stomach. She responded avidly, moving her hips in unison, looping her hands around his neck. When he finally pulled back he was breathing heavily.

“Can we dispense with your maid, ma’am? Will you stay in my room tonight?” He asked huskily. She nodded, still clinging to him. He led her into his bedchamber, unused except as a dressing space. She pushed his coat off his shoulders and he shrugged out of it, tossing the garment on a chair. As he felt her hands at his waist, his breeches, he was only peripherally aware that something had fallen from his coat pocket and landed on the floor.


	15. Chapter 15

She curled up against him, needing his warmth and the solid proximity of her Lord M in the night. She didn’t know and wouldn’t credit it if he told her, he needed to feel her beside him in the night as much as she did him. Even now, when having each other was not quite a novelty, Victoria trusted his affection but she could not quite credit his need. She needed him for strength, for courage, for the very oxygen she breathed. And he, while endlessly patient, tender, loving, always seemed a more complete being, fully formed, able to exist without their connection while she considered herself less than whole without him. Her Lord M was the very axis on which her world turned. Victoria accepted her utter dependence on him, not to think, to act, to _do_ for in temporal matters, while she valued his knowledge and experience, she knew herself to be quite capable. Rather, she needed him to _be_.

Loving him so completely that her very existence depended on him still made Victoria afraid, because it entailed such complete surrender of all her carefully constructed emotional walls. Lord M made her feel safe so that she’d found the courage to move past her fear, but it never quite left her.

Victoria thought of his sternness earlier, even the anger she saw simmering just beneath the surface. Seeing him less than fully in control was to her a sign that perhaps he was a little afraid too, and his jealousy, even the unaccustomed ferocity of his lovemaking, had been as thrilling as it was novel. Remembering what had transpired made want roil through her again and Victoria thought of touching him until he woke and made love to her. Instead, seeing how peaceful and boyish he looked in sleep, she eased herself away so as not to wake him and slipped out of bed. She intended to find her discarded shift and sit up for a time, waiting for wakefulness to pass and sleep to come.

Once away from his warmth and the warmth of their bed, Victoria chilled quickly. The fine material of her shift did little to warm her. She touched his coat, ran her fingers along the fabric and feeling quite naughty, put it over her shoulders. _There!_ Once the fabric enveloped her it felt like his arms and she drank in the scent, the feel. Being wrapped in his coat felt safe and warm.

Victoria noticed something laying on the floor when her bare foot brushed against it and looked idly down to see what it was. As soon as she picked up the packet of letters, clearly fallen from his coat, recognition delayed by a few long seconds in which time stood still. She knew instantly of course – letters from a woman, most probably _that woman_ , the one who wouldn’t let go, must proclaim their bond of affection to the world. Always, since childhood, her temper was Victoria’s shield. That raging, tantruming child was Drina, John Conroy’s unwitting creation. Now the adult Victoria whispered counsel in her ear. _Calm_ , she said. _You must think. You can’t_ act _until you’ve calmed yourself._ Victoria forced herself to breath slowly and deeply, even as she wanted to rage and scream and tear down the wall-hangings, throw things that would make a lovely noise as they smashed. _You can’t act like the stupid child you are or_ she _wins,_ that cool voice in her mind said.

Victoria knew that as a Queen she was credible but as a woman…she knew herself to be, without the crown and jewels and cloth-of-gold, a short plain girl with too much of her German heritage on display, a petulant child quite as inadequate as Conroy had always made her feel. Lord M had been the source of everything she knew, public and private, and she acknowledged there were so many things he’d shared with the witty, urbane women of his past that she was still ignorant of. She didn’t know how to make him – make any man – desire her, and he hadn’t taught her that, had only taught her to take what he offered, never to seek. Part of the reason her particular admirer, Lord Cameron, was as reassuring as he was amusing was that he at least pretended he saw in her what gentlemen saw in other, more beautiful, more desirable ladies. She knew that, of course she did, no feigned innocence could mistake his risqué humor, the light in his most playful expressions. But that was _Billy,_ easily discounted. Victoria knew that anything her Lord M gave her could only ever be a gift, and could easily be taken away. _Stop_ , that quelling grown up voice insisted. _Do not say anything that can’t be unsaid. Give him a chance to explain._

Victoria lost track of time as she sat shivering in the cold room, bare legs drawn up under her shift, coat over her shoulders, waiting for morning to come.

“Victoria!” She recollected her surroundings as he quietly repeated her name. He was awake, looking at her with still-sleepy solemnity. Victoria looked over his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes, even in the near-darkness.

“You’re shivering! Come back to bed.” He lifted the covers and slid over, waiting for her to join him.

When Melbourne awoke he was instantly aware she was no longer beside him. He turned on his side and saw her sitting in the chair – _such a small figure!_ – beside the bed. She was trembling with cold but didn’t seem to notice, and of course he saw what she was holding. He resisted the urge to swear aloud at his own laxness and called to her instead.

Victoria untangled her limbs and came to him obediently, like a child. He pushed his coat from her shoulders and pulled the covers up over her. She still clutched the packet of letters and managed to not quite look at him. He wrapped her in his arms, drew the quilt over both of them and warmed her against his body, feeling the sharp edges of that damn packet between them. When he felt her warm, felt the shivers in her thin shoulders ease, her icy feet worm their way between his calves, Melbourne reached down and gently pried the letters from her grip.

“We would have discussed them last night but other matters intervened. I can look at them now. Or burn them. As you see fit, Mrs. Melbourne,” He kept his voice soft and reassuring.

He told her of his day in the City, shared the _on dits_ he’d heard, who he’d seen, who he’d dined with, all the commonplaces they’d discussed.  “And…as I was leaving my club…”

“Of course from Mrs. Norton, my love. Seems she’s been writing me quite regularly and having her letters delivered to Brooks.” Melbourne stroked Victoria’s cheek gently with a finger, then cupped her face in his hand. “I am pleased I’ve earned your trust.”

“What would you like me to do? Toss them in the fire unopened?” He asked her. “Tell me.”

Victoria hesitated, her eyes troubled. “What do you want to do?” she asked finally. Melbourne drew her close.

“What I do not want to do is encourage her to think there is any chance I will resume the connection. What I do not want to do is anything that might upset you. And…I suppose…I do not want to wound her unnecessarily. She was a good friend to me for a long time and while I never intended to encourage the stronger feelings she claims we shared…I do feel some compassion for her, and even some guilt for my part in her troubles. But that concern ends where her actions upset you.”

“Then you will read her letters, I suppose.” Victoria stiffened her back and sat up, resisting his attempt to pull her back. Melbourne persisted until he felt her yield, soften and allow herself to be pulled back onto his chest.

“Not without you at my side, I won’t. Come…look at me, ma’am…burn or read?” He laid the packet on her lap. She pushed them off, her face stormy, but then she turned into him so her face pressed against his chest and one arm went over his waist. “I want you. I want us. That is what I want.”

Holding her closely, Melbourne quickly scanned each letter. As the author’s ire was apparent and she berated him roundly for abandoning her, hurling ever-increasing jibes, he was relieved to find that her petulant self-pitying tone and utter lack of personal accountability quite dissipated most of his feelings of guilt. The woman had, after all, understood clearly what she was about, seeking and accepting favors on behalf of her avaricious husband and if her feelings had undergone a sea change it was nothing Melbourne had encouraged. He’d enjoyed their trysts as he’d enjoyed her erudite conversation and the interesting company he met in her salons. A pleasant enough way to spend a few hours, nothing more.

“What I would like to do is _tell_ her about us,” He pushed the whole opened pile away. “Tell her that we are as good as wed, and that I am hopelessly in love with you. As long as she believes I am here seeking power or preferment she will persist. But she’s not a stupid woman, no matter how determined or deluded. Just as I would like to just _tell_ the man I find laying at your feet, fondling your ankles.” Her fingers picked at the hairs on his chest, exploring, fidgeting.

“…not the same thing…” She murmured.

“No it’s not…and yet, yes I guess it is. As long as people only assume, they’ll either dismiss what they know when it suits their convenience, or imagine our union something casual that can easily be breached. That, ma’am, is the consequence of foregoing the married state.”

“But you said yourself, there are not so many happy marriages.”

“I think it depends on the people. Marriage neither ensures happiness nor prevents it. One of the benefits of my – experience, is that I know how to value what I have and there’s no need to look further. But marriage does at least make a declaration to the world that there are lines to be crossed, boundaries to defend.”

“Are you –“ She lifted her head and looked at him. “Are you saying you regret saying no to me that day?”

Victoria lifted her chin, dark eyes glittering as she pulled away from him and sat back on her heels. He pushed himself up against the headboard and looked at her, fully naked and too agitated to display her usual bashfulness. Melbourne reflected, amused, that indeed it was as though he had a tiger cub in his bed, playful, affectionate but with sharp claws and fully capable of lethality.

To Melbourne also came the thought that this splendid creature, his to mold and shape, quite the most interesting mind and character in the world, could doubt her transcendence was ludicrous, but he knew he must not laugh. Instead he reached out his hand. “I want to conceal nothing, but also protect you from hearing – reading – things that will upset you unnecessarily. The woman publishes prolifically and suggests that our correspondence might have literary value.”

“So…what does she want? Other than you, that is. What took  -“ She counted. “Five letters in as many weeks to say?”

Melbourne sighed and chose one particular letter. He pulled her back against him and held it out for her. “Do you want to read? She is – not complimentary to you, which you should consider a sign of her extreme jealousy. More to the point she cites specific times, dates, on which we were together. Clearly she feels she has nothing left to fear from George – her husband – now that he’s done his worst and barred her from contact with her children.”

“And that would be troublesome for you? If I already know and you are no longer Prime Minister, what harm could she do?”

“We’ve not talked specifics, you and I. There seemed no need. And _no_ ,” He saw the suspicion darken her eyes. “Never ever have I had intimate relations with that woman or wanted to, since we have been together as we are, since I first kissed you. I promised you that once and I did not lie. During the period I was only your Prime Minister I avoided her completely, not wanting any reminder of the old scandal to resurface. However,” He rubbed his hands over his face. “There were some times, after your marriage, when I thought I had lost you that we – that she was there to provide distraction, solace. It is that which she holds over my head. To berate me. To say she misses me and despises me. To accuse me simultaneously of using her and of using you.”

Victoria felt the rage boil up again and with great effort controlled it.

“You – had relations with that woman after I – after I went through with that farce of a wedding only to make it possible for _us_ to be together?”

“My darling girl, you forget I didn’t know that. You did not confide in me and I thought I had lost you forever. It..it quite tortured me, imagining you on your wedding night, giving yourself to another man. I drank heavily, I took opium, I – I did whatever would get me through the night with my mind intact. My heart was already broken. And she was there. It was a comfort only but...” he shrugged helplessly. “There it is. I didn’t tell you before because those weeks seemed like a nightmare I’d forgotten on waking. I confess having details of an intimate nature published would be extremely unpleasant, but that such salacious material would be used to embarrass you is my primary concern.”

Victoria sat in silence, feeling her rage ebb away – _has it always been that simple to control my temper?_  She wondered. _Or is it part of growing up? I love this man, and he loves me. I could wound him as he has wounded me, but he’s already been hurt so much I don’t want to add to it. He’s a good, kind man and I find I do not want to return hurt for hurt._

She heaved a great shuddering sigh and allowed her body to soften and mold itself to him.

“All mine?” She whispered, tracing his features with a finger.

 “Without a doubt, my darling girl. All yours now and forever. That you could want a man like me is a miracle in itself. I have no desire to tempt Providence.”

“So what does she _want_? Other than you, that is.”

He reflected that he would find it easier to choose his words if her other hand wasn’t dancing across the taut skin of his midsection.

“Her marriage was tumultuous before, her husband a most unpleasant fellow. I gave him what appointments were in my power to give and he made a mess out of each one. She had most certainly established other male friendships before me, always to someone advantageously placed to benefit the Nortons. She comes from a quite colorful family and she and her sisters were quite the toast of London so she was well established in society before the lawsuit. What people can’t forgive is the notoriety, that she and her husband couldn’t keep from airing their dirty linen most publicly. She feels strongly that only gaining Your Majesty’s confidence, your – favor, will rehabilitate her socially…” Melbourne watched her, could only see the back of her dark head as she slid down to pillow her head on his abdomen. He abandoned all thought, gasping as she took him in one hand and teased her tongue along his length. Just when he thought he might lose himself she paused in her ministrations.

“If we are unable to tell her we must show her. Give her what she wants. I will receive her and make a show of it, I - _we_ \- will invite her to dine at the palace so that she may _see_ for herself how we are. I am tired of fearing that woman. She must be shown that You.” Victoria slid her lips over his member, took it into her mouth, withdrew in one long fluid movement. “Are.” She repeated her action and he moaned audibly. “Mine.” He cupped her head in one hand and shifted position so he could watch her, watch his Queen performing this wanton act more ably than a courtesan, watch as she brought him to ecstasy.

***

“The Diplomatic Reception. Have cards gone out yet, Emma?” The Queen walked briskly into her morning room. Lady Portman looked at the Duchess of Sutherland, who answered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I wish to add someone. I am glad you are here today, Harriet. It seems your friend Mrs. Norton has been writing William and through all of our recent disruption he was quite delayed in receiving her letters. We read them together last night.”

Harriet Sutherland looked uncomfortable, glancing sidelong at Emma Portman.

“We’ve decided to extend her an invitation to the Diplomatic Reception and Ball. If her husband is in town, he is of course welcome too. And if not, William has spoken to Lord Cameron who would be pleased to escort her. So she need not attend without a gentleman. Lord M and I feel that the poor woman has faced severe enough consequences for the foolish libel her husband put about. We will invite her to dine with us at the Palace beforehand. That should show the world how utterly ridiculous it is for anyone to think that William has ever harbored any feelings for her other than pity.” Victoria smoothed the satin of her skirts and sat down, smiling brightly. “As her friend, will you please tell her, Harriet? William and I are quite eager to assist her take her place in society again. There might even be a possibility of recognizing her literary efforts with an appointment as Poet Laureate…of Ireland. With a stipend sufficient to support her there, of course.”

“Better tell that woman to go back to Ireland with her own husband, and cease laying her troubles at William’s feet,” Emma snapped acerbically. “William is quite happy where he is.”

Victoria beamed at her. “Yes, Emma, he is. Now we must demonstrate that. So…Harriet, we may trust you to act as our envoy? Be sure to communicate our wishes most clearly.”

The women looked up when Melbourne came in, stood behind the Queen and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, Duchess, we would be most grateful if you will pay a special visit to extend our joint wish to put this nonsense behind us. As if –“ Melbourne shook his head genially, chuckling. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll remember our words, and deliver them accurately. In this matter the Queen and I speak as one, out of concern for the well-being of all her subjects. Her Majesty’s secretary will prepare an invitation you may take with you.”

He took coffee from the silver tray set out and sat beside the Queen, across from her ladies.

“Ma’am, where is the Prince Consort? I wished to have a word with him. Peel has some news on your would-be assassin.”

“He has gone to speak at the opening of a new attraction at the Tunnel. Please, tell me. Have they determined whether that man acted alone?”

“Peel thinks not. He does not believe they were hired assassins, but he does think they were part of a group of radicals and there are others still out there.”

“Albert and I will meet with you and Sir Robert together to hear what he has to say. Unless you think it urgent, Lord M?”

“You have no public engagements in the next few days? I have assured Peel you have not yet resumed public duties that take you out of the Palace.”

“No. Several delegations are to be received here but nothing else yet. I do hope this matter of assassins lurking behind every bush is quickly resolved. I is quite tedious to be locked up as if in jail, no matter how pleasant the company.” She smiled and looked at her ladies, then back at Melbourne.

“Very well. I will go and review the report from his investigative commission. I believe you ladies have a ball to plan. I will leave you to it.” Melbourne rose and bowed over her hand, kissing the back of her hand, each finger, then turning it over to kiss her palm and wrist. “Ma'am, Emma, Harriet…make this ball an exceptionally splendid affair. So we can show off our Queen to the nations represented,”

All three watched him depart, each lost in her own thoughts. The Duchess of Sutherland sighed. When she spoke she voiced the thoughts of her companions as well. “It is wonderful to see such love. What a tragedy that our marriages never align with our hearts."

**_Epilogue_ **

Melbourne sat in bed reading by the light of a single candle, making occasional notes in the margins of the papers. The Prince Regent had not yet returned from his public engagement so they had retired early. Victoria slept, pressed against his side, one foot thrown across his shins. Melbourne especially loved this time of day when the world shrank to their private space, his Queen safe in bed at his side, their children asleep just down the hall, everything he loved in his life seen in the golden gauzy soft focus of candlelight. Even if it made keeping up with his remaining political duties and voluminous correspondence logistically challenging, he thought, smiling a little with no one to see. Victoria's energy still flagged at day's end, although she was on the way to full health, the memory of her injuries fading along with the scars now marking her creamy skin. Melbourne wanted her well but didn’t especially regret this time of reduced ceremonial obligations. And, were he to be honest with himself, the slower pace aligned well with his own diminished energy. He’d accepted that a faint weakness would always remain and was grateful he could again lift his children and embrace their mother, even if the dexterity to hold a wineglass or pen was now lost on that side.

Melbourne considered himself the most fortunate of men.

 _Running footsteps in halls that only ever held the most decorous of steps. Raised voices in the silence of Buckingham._ A sudden vicious cramp twisted his gut before he could remind himself that she was here, safe beside him, the children just down the hall under the watchful guard of the night nurse, Baroness Lehzen only steps away.

Melbourne set down his work with quiet deliberation, drew on his dressing gown and slipped out of the Queen’s bedroom through the private entrance that led to his own apartment. Moments later, to the sound of pounding on the Queen’s door, he stepped into the hallway.

A page was there, shirt collar undone, hair disheveled, gasping for breath from running. When Melbourne heard what he had to say, he knew that other feelings would soon follow, for him and certainly even more so for the Queen, but what he thought first was that everything – everything in life he relied upon for his happiness, that the Queen had so carefully constructed to give them this life - had just unalterably changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An ending or a new beginning? "Everything changes."


End file.
